SB    MMD    flDfl 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

PRESENTED  BY 

PROF.  CHARLES  A.  KOFOID  AND 
MRS.  PRUDENCE  W.  KOFOID 


U     ~ 


Two  LITTLE  SAVAGES 


Being  t/>e  ADVENTURES  of'Iwo 
WhoLived  as  INDIANS   Ml  and 
^jl^J^-What  They  LEARNED. 

WITH  2  OVERjTWO  s  HUNDRED  2  DRAWINGS 


li-i'-rj'-  • 


Written   &>-  illustrated 


—y 

ERNEST  THOMPSON  SEWN 

AUTHOR  of  Wild  Animals  /  have  f(nown,  lives  of  tfce  Hunted, 

Biography  of  a  G^LY,  Zw/  0/Y/fc  JANDHILL  JTAG,  etcetera 

<y  NATUI\ALIJT  to  tbt  Government  of  MANITOBA. 


MDCCCCMI. 

Doubleday  Page  &•  Company,  New  York. 


- 


Copyright,  1903,  by 
Brnest  Cbotnpson  Scton 


Preface 


X  haw  known  the  torment  of  thirst  X  would 
dig  a  well  where  others  may  drinfc. 

e.  c.  s. 


In  this  Book  the  designs  for  Cover,  Title-page 

and  general  make-up  were  done  by 

Grace  Gallatin  Seton. 


Two  Little  Savages 
A  Book  of  American  Woodcraft  for  Boys 


The  Chapters 
Part  I 


Page 

X.  Glimmerings  ......    .    .......    19 

It-  Spring    ................  26 

XXX.  Ris  Hd  joining  Brothers      .........   28 

XT.  Che  Book    ...............   32 

V.  Che  Collarless  Stranger      ........    ,38 

TX.  Glenyan  ................   46 

TXX.  Che  Shanty    ..............   50 

TXXX.  Che  Beginnings  of  <8oodlore      ......     .56 

XX.  Crachs    ..............  ...   66 

X.  Bidd/s  Contribution     ..........   7  1 

XX.  Hung  Balm     .............    .76 

XXX.  H  Crisis     ...............  82 

XXXI.  Che  Lynx   ...............  88 

XXV.  froth      ................   95 

X 


The  Chapters 
Part  II 


Page 

X.  Che  ]New  f>ome     .    .    . 103 

XX.  Sam 111 

XXX.  Che  Sdigwam 117 

XT.  Che  Sanger  Olitch 131 

V.  Caleb 141 

TX.  Che  J^Iahing  of  the  Ceepee 151 

TXX.  Che  Calm  evening 1 57 

TXXX.  Che  Sacred  fire 167 

XX.  Che  Bows  and  Hrrows 176 

X.  Che  Dam 188 

XX.  Tan  and  the  Sditch  . 199 

XXX.  Dinner  with  the  Sditch 212 

XXXX.  Che  hostile  Spy 218 

XXV.  Che  Quarrel 232 

XT.  Che  peace  of  jviinnie 241 

xi 


The  Chapters 

Part  III 
Sin  tfjc 


Page 

I.  Really  in  the  TOoods   .........  251 

XI.  Che  first  JNight  and  JVIorning     .    ....  262 

III.  H  Crippled  Warrior  and  the  Jviud-Hlbums  .  270 

XT.  H"]VIassacree"  of  palefaces    ......  282 

"V.  Che  Deer  f)unt     ...........  288 

VI.  Sdar  Bonnet,  Ceepee  and  Coups    .....  299 

Til.  Campercraft  ...    .........  314 

Till.  Che  Indian  Drum   .....    .....  320 

IX.  €he  Cat  and  the  Skunk   ........  327 

X.  Che  Hdventures  of  a  Squirrel  family      .    .  337 

XI.  f)ow  to  See  the  Oloodf  oik   .......  344 

XII.  Indian  Signs  and  Getting  Lost  .    .    .    .    .  355 

XIII.  Canning  Skins  and  leaking  JVUxcasins     .    .  364 

XIV.  Caleb's  philosophy     .....    ....  373 

xii 


Page 

XT,  H  Visit  from  RaTten       •«......  3/9 

XVI.  fk>w  Yan  Knew  the  Ducks  Hfar      ...»  385 

XVII,    Sam's  Woodcraft  exploit 394 

XVIII.    Che  Owls  and  the  ]Vight-School 399 

XIX,    Che  Crial  of  Grit    .    .    .    .    * 411 

XX»    Che  Cdhite  Revolver 421 

XXI.    Che  Criumph  of  Guy 429 

XXII,    Che  Coon  Runt 443 

XXIII.  Che  Banshee's  Cdail  and  the  F)u£e  JHight 

prowler 456 

XXIV.  FJawheye  Claims  Hnother  Grand  Coup     .    .  470 

XXV,    Che  Chree-fingered  Cramp 478 

XXVI.  Spinning  Bach  the  farm     ....,.,  489 

XXVII,    Che  Rival  Cribe 496 

XXVIII.    Sdhite  ]VIanrs  Woodcraft 502 

XXIX.    Che  IU>ng  Swamp 508 

XXX.    H  ]Vew  Kind  of  Coon      523 

XXXI.    On  the  Old  Camp  Ground 534 

XXXII.    Che  New  «lar  Chief 537 


List  of  Full  Pages 
Parti 

Page 

1.  "  Gazing  spellbound  in  that  window  "  .....  22 

2.  "  f)c  already  knew  the  Downy  Woodpecker ".    .    .  36 

3.  Y^n's  Toilet 59 

4.  Tbe  Coon  Crack 67 

5.  "  There  in  bis  dear  cabin  were  tbrcc  tramps "     .    .  85 

6.  "  It  surely  was  a  Lynx  " 91 

Part  II 

7.  "  Cbe  wigwam  was  a  failure  " 1 27 

8.  "Gctouto'tbisnow.orX'Ubootye"      ....  143 

9.  pattern  for  Ceepee 147 

10.  pattern  of  Thunder  Bull's  Teepee  and  of  Black 

Bull's  Teepee  . 153 

1 1.  "  *  Clicker-a-clicker ! '  be  shrieked  .  .  .  and  down  like 

a  dart" 159 


Page 

12.  Rubbing-sticks  for  fire-making     .......  174 

13.  Che  Hrcbery  Outfit 183 

14.  "  Che  dam  was  a  great  success  " 193 

i 5»  "  tlgb !  F)«ap  sassy  "  . 223 

16.  "  Cbere  stood  Raf  ten,  spectator  of  the  whole  affair  "  239 

Part  III 

17.  "Xf  ye  hill  any  Song-birds,  I'll  use  the  rawboide 

on  ye" 259 

18.  "SClbere'stbeaje?" 266 

1 9.  "  Re  soon  appeared,  waving  a  brancb  " 27 1 

20.  Cbe  5dar  Bonnet 301 

21.  " Cbe  old  Gat  raged  and  tore " 333 

22.  Xndian  Signs 357 

23.  " Cbe  Cwo  Smokes " 361 

24.  Cbe  fisb  and  River  Ducks 387 

25.  Cbe  Sea  Ducks 391 

26.  Owl-stuffing  plate 405 

27.  "6uy  gave  a  leap  of  terror  and  fell" 433 

28.  "  SClell,  sonny,  cookin'  dinner  ?" .  480 

29.  "  f)e  nervously  fired  and  missed  " 529 


Part  I 


gan 


Two  Little  Savages 


Glimmerings 

AN  was  much  like  other  twelve-year- 
old  boys  in  having  a  keen  interest 
in  Indians  and  in  wild  life,  but  he 
differed  from  most  in  this,  that  he 
never  got  over  it.  Indeed,  as  he 
grew  older,  he  found  a  yet  keener 
pleasure  in  storing  up  the  little 
bits  of  woodcraft  and  Indian  lore 
that  pleased  him  as  a  boy. 

His  father  was  in  poor  circumstances.  He  was  an 
upright  man  of  refined  tastes,  but  indolent — a  failure 
in  business,  easy  with  the  world  and  stern  with  his 
family.  He  had  never  taken  an  interest  in  his  son's 
wildwood  pursuits;  and  when  he  got  the  idea  that 
they  might  interfere  with  the  boy's  education,  he 
forbade  them  altogether. 

There  was  certainly  no  reason  to  accuse  Yan  of 
neglecting  school.  He  was  the  head  boy  of  his 


Two  Little  Savages 

ciass,  although  there  were  many  in  it  older  than 
himself.  He  was  fond  of  books  in  general,  but  those 
that  dealt  with  Natural  Science  and  Indian  craft 
were  very  close  to  his  heart.  Not  that  he  had  many — 
there  wrere  very  few  in  those  days,  and  the  Public 
Library  had  but  a  poor  representation  of  these. 
"Lloyd's  Scandinavian  Sports,"  "Gray's  Botany" 
and  one  or  two  Fenimore  Cooper  novels,  these  were 
all,  and  Yan  was  devoted  to  them.  He  was  a  timid, 
obedient  boy  in  most  things,  but  the  unwise  command 
to  give  up  what  was  his  nature  merely  made  him  a 
disobedient  boy — turned  a  good  boy  into  a  bad  one. 
He  was  too  much  in  terror  of  his  father  to  disobey 
openly,  but  he  used  to  sneak  away  at  all  opportunities 
to  the  fields  and  woods,  and  at  each  new  bird  or 
plant  he  found  he  had  an  exquisite  thrill  of  mingled 
pleasure  and  pain — the  pain  because  he  had  no  name 
for  it  or  means  of  learning  its  nature. 

The  intense  interest  in  animals  was  his  master 
passion,  and  thanks  to  this,  his  course  to  and  from 
school  was  a  very  crooked  one,  involving  many 
crossings  of  the  street,  because  thereby  he  could  pass 
first  a  saloon  in  whose  window  was  a  champagne 
advertising  chromo  that  portrayed  two  Terriers 
chasing  a  Rat;  next,  directly  opposite  this,  was  a 
tobacconist's,  in  the  window  of  which  was  a  beautiful 
effigy  of  an  Elephant,  laden  with  tobacco.  By  going 
a  little  farther  out  of  his  way,  there  was  a  game  store 
where  he  might  see  some  Ducks,  and  was  sure,  at 
least,  of  a  stuffed  Deer's  head;  and  beyond  that  w\s 

20 


"  Gazing  spellbound  in  that  window  " 


Glimmerings 

a  furrier  shop,  with  an  astonishing  stuffed  Bear. 
At  another  point  he  could  see  a  livery  stable  Dog 
that  was  said  to  have  killed  a  Coon,  and  at  yet 
another  place  on  Jervie  Street  was  a  cottage  with 
a  high  veranda,  under  which,  he  was  told,  a  chained 
Bear  had  once  been  kept.  He  never  saw  the  Bear. 
It  had  been  gone  for  years,  but  he  found  pleasure 
in  passing  the  place.  At  the  corner  of  Pemberton 
and  Grand  streets,  according  to  a  schoolboy  tradition, 
a  Skunk  had  been  killed  years  ago  and  could  still 
be  smelled  on  damp  nights.  He  always  stopped,  if 
passing  near  on  a  wet  night,  and  sniffed  and  enjoyed 
that  Skunk  smell.  The  fact  that  it  ultimately 
turned  out  to  be  a  leakage  of  sewer  gas  could  never 
rob  him  of  the  pleasure  he  originally  found  in  it. 

Yan  had  no  good  excuse  for  these  weaknesses,  and 
he  blushed  for  shame  when  his  elder  brother  talked 
"common  sense"  to  him  about  his  follies.  He  only 
knew  that  such  things  fascinated  him. 

But  the  crowning  glory  was  a  taxidermist's  shop 
kept  on  Main  Street  by  a  man  named  Sander.  Yan 
spent,  all  told,  many  weeks  gazing  spellbound,  with 
his  nose  flat  and  white  against  that  window.  It  con 
tained  some  Fox  and  Cat  heads  grinning  ferociously, 
and  about  fifty  birds  beautifully  displayed.  Nature 
might  have  got  some  valuable  hints  in  that  window 
on  showing  plumage  to  the  very  best  advantage.  Each 
bird  seemed  more  wonderful  than  the  last. 

There  were  perhaps  fifty  of  them  on  view,  and 
of  these,  twelve  had  labels,  as  they  had  formed  part 


Two  Little  Savages 

of  an  exhibit   at  the  Annual  County   Fair.      These 
labels  were  precious  truths  to  him,  and  the  birds: 
Osprey  Partridge  or  Ruffed  Grouse 

Kingfisher  Bittern 

Bluejay  Highholder 

Rosebreasted  Grosbeak      Sawwhet  Owl 
Woodthrush  Oriole 

Scarlet  Tanager  ******* 

were,  with  their  names,  deeply  impressed  on  his  mem 
ory  and  added  to  his  woodlore,  though  not  altogether 
without  a  mixture  of  error.  For  the  alleged  Wood- 
thrush  was  not  a  Woodthrush  at  all,  but  turned  out 
to  be  a  Hermit  Thrush.  The  last  bird  of  the  list 
was  a  long-tailed,  brownish  bird  with  white  breast. 
The  label  was  placed  so  that  Yan  could  not  read  it 
from  outside,  and  one  of  his  daily  occupations 
was  to  see  if  the  label  had  been  turned  so  that  he 
could  read  it.  But  it  never  was,  so  he  never  learned 
the  bird's  name. 

After  passing  this  for  a  year  or  more,  he  formed 
a  desperate  plan.  It  was  nothing  less  than  to  go 
inside.  It  took  him  some  months  to  screw  up 
courage,  for  he  was  shy  and  timid,  but  oh !  he  was 
so  hungry  for  it.  Most  likely  if  he  had  gone  in  openly 
and  asked  leave,  he  would  have  been  allowed  to  see 
everything;  but  he  dared  not.  His  home  training 
was  all  of  the  crushing  kind.  He  picked  on  the  most 
curious  of  the  small  birds  in  the  window — a  Sawwhet 
OwL  then  grit  his  teeth  and  walked  in.  How 
frightfully  the  cowbell  on  the  door  did  clang !  Then 


Glimmerings 

there  succeeded  a  still  more  appalling  silence,  then 
a  step  and  the  great  man  himself  came. 

"How — how — how  much  is  that  Owl?" 

"Two  dollars." 

Yan's  courage  broke  down  now.  He  fled.  If 
he  had  been  told  ten  cents,  it  would  have  been 
utterly  beyond  reach.  He  scarcely  heard  what  the 
man  said.  He  hurried  out  with  a  vague  feeling  that 
he  had  been  in  heaven  but  was  not  good  enough  to 
stay  there.  He  saw  nothing  of  the  wonderful  things 
around  him. 


II 

Spring 

YAN,  though  not  strong,  revelled  in  deeds  of 
brawn.  He  would  rather  have  been  Samson 
than  Moses — Hercules  than  Apollo.  All  his 
tastes  inclined  him  to  wild  life.  Each  year  when  the 
spring  came,  he  felt  the  inborn  impulse  to  up  and 
away.  He  was  stirred  through  and  through  when 
the  first  Crow,  in  early  March,  came  barking  over 
head.  But  it  fairly  boiled  in  his  blood  when  the 
Wild  Geese,  in  long,  double,  arrow-headed  proces 
sion,  went  clanging  northward.  He  longed  to  go  with 
them.  Whenever  a  new  bird  or  beast  appeared,  he 
had  a  singular  prickling  feeling  up  his  spine  and  his 
back  as  though  he  had  a  mane  that  was  standing 
up.  This  feeling  strengthened  with  his  strength. 

All  of  his  schoolmates  used  to  say  that  they  "liked" 
the  spring,  some  of  the  girls  would  even  say  that  they 
"dearly  loved"  the  spring,  but  they  could  not 
understand  the  madness  that  blazed  in  Yan's  eyes 
when  springtime  really  came — the  flush  of  cheek — 
the  shortening  breath — the  restless  craving  for 
action — the  chafing  with  flashes  of  rebellion  at  school 
restraints — the  overflow  of  nervous  energy — the 
blc^dthirst  in  his  blood — the  hankering  to  run — to 

26 


Spring 

run  to  the  north,  when  the  springtime  tokens  bugled 
to  his  every  sense. 

Then  the  wind  and  sky  and  ground  were  full  of 
thrill.  There  was  clamour  everywhere,  but  never  a 
word.  There  was  stirring  within  and  without. 
There  was  incentive  in  the  yelping  of  the  Wild  Geese ; 
but  it  was  only  tumult,  for  he  could  not  understand 
why  he  was  so  stirred.  There  were  voices  that  he  could 
not  hear — messages  that  he  could  not  read;  all  was 
confusion  of  tongues.  He  longed  only  to  get  away. 

"  If  only  I  could  get  away.  If — if Oh,  God  ! "  he 

stammered  in  torment  of  inexpression,  and  then 
would  gasp  and  fling  himself  down  on  some  bank, 
and  bite  the  twigs  that  chanced  within  reach  and 
tremble  and  wonder  at  himself. 

Only  one  thing  kept  him  from  some  mad  and 
suicidal  move — from  joining  some  roving  Indian  band 
up  north,  or  gypsies  nearer — and  that  was  the  strong 
hand  at  home. 


27 


Ill 
His  Adjoining  Brothers 

YAN  had  many  brothers,  but  only  those  next  him 
in  age  were  important  in  his  life.  Rad  was  two 
years  older — a  strong  boy,  who  prided  himself 
on  his  "common  sense."  Though  so  much  older,  he 
was  Yan's  inferior  at  school.  He  resented  this,  and 
delighted  in  showing  his  muscular  superiority  at  all 
opportunities.  He  was  inclined  to  be  religious,  and 
was  strictly  proper  in  his  life  and  speech.  He  never 
was  known  to  smoke  a  cigarette,  tell  a  lie,  or  say 
"gosh"  or  "darn."  He  was  plucky  and  persevering, 
but  he  was  cold  and  hard,  without  a  human  fiber 
or  a  drop  of  red  blood  in  his  make-up.  Even  as  a 
boy  he  bragged  that  he  had  no  enthusiasms,  that 
he  believed  in  common  sense,  that  he  called  a  spade 
a  spade,  and  would  not  use  two  words  where  one 
would  do.  His  intelligence  was  above  the  average, 
but  he  was  so  anxious  to  be  thought  a  person  of 
rare  sagacity  and  smartness,  unswayed  by  emotion, 
that  nothing  was  too  heartless  for  him  to  do  if  it 
seemed  in  line  with  his  assumed  character.  He 
was  not  especially  selfish,  and  yet  he  pretended 
to  be  so,  simply  that  people  should  say  of  him  signifi 
cantly  and  admiringly:  "  Isn't  he  keen  ?  Doesn't  he 

28 


His  Adjoining-  Brothers 

know  how  to  take  care  of  himself?"  What  little 
human  warmth  there  was  in  him  died  early,  and 
he  succeeded  only  in  making  himself  increasingly 
detested  as  he  grew  up. 

His  relations  to  Yan  may  be  seen  in  one  incident. 

Yan  had  been  crawling  about  under  the  house  in 
the  low  wide  cobwebby  space  between  the  floor 
beams  and  the  ground.  The  delightful  sensation  of 
being  on  an  exploring  expedition  led  him  farther 
(and  ultimately  to  a  paternal  thrashing  for  soiling 
his  clothes) ,  till  he  discovered  a  hollow  place  near  one 
side,  where  he  could  nearly  stand  upright.  He  at 
once  formed  one  of  his  schemes — to  make  a  secret,  or 
at  least  a  private,  workroom  here.  He  knew  that 
if  he  were  to  ask  permission  he  would  be  refused, 
but  if  he  and  Rad  together  were  to  go  it  might 
receive  favourable  consideration  on  account  of  Rad's 
self -asserted  reputation  for  common  sense.  For  a 
wonder,  Rad  was  impressed  with  the  scheme,  but 
was  quite  sure  that  they  had  "better  not  go  together 
to  ask  Father."  He  "  could  manage  that  part  better 
alone,"  and  he  did. 

Then  they  set  to  work.  The  first  thing  was  to 
deepen  the  hole  from  three  feet  to  six  feet  everywhere, 
and  get  rid  of  the  earth  by  working  it  back  under  the 
floor  of  the  house.  There  were  many  days  of  labour 
in  this,  and  Yan  stuck  to  it  each  day  after  returning 
from  school.  There  were  always  numerous  reasons  why 
Rad  could  not  share  in  the  labour.  When  the  ten  by 
fourteen-foot  hole  was  made,  boards  to  line  and  floor 


29 


Two  Little  Savages 

it  were  needed.  Lumber  was  very  cheap — inferior, 
second-hand  stuff  was  to  be  had  for  the  asking — 
and  Yan  found  and  carried  boards  enough  to  make 
the  workroom.  Rad  was  an  able  carpenter  and  now 
took  charge  of  the  construction.  They  worked 
together  evening  after  evening,  Yan  discussing  all 
manner  of  plans  with  warmth  and  enthusiasm — 
what  they  would  do  in  their  workshop  when  finished — 
how  they  might  get  a  jig-saw  in  time  and  saw  picture 
frames,  so  as  to  make  some  money.  Rad  assented 
with  grunts  or  an  occasional  Scripture  text — that 
was  his  way.  Each  day  he  told  Yan  what  to  go  on 
with  while  he  was  absent. 

The  walls  were  finished  at  length;  a  window  placed 
in  one  side ;  a  door  made  and  fitted  with  lock  and  key. 
What  joy  !  Yan  glowed  with  pleasure  and  pride  at 
the  triumphant  completion  of  his  scheme.  He  swept 
up  the  floor  for  the  finishing  ceremony  and  sat  down  on 
the  bench  for  a  grand  gloat,  when  Rad  said  abruptly: 

"Going  to  lock  up  now."  That  sounded  gratify- 
ingly  important.  Yan  stepped  outside.  Rad  locked 
the  door,  put  the  key  in  his  pocket,  then  turning, 
he  said  with  cold,  brutal  emphasis: 

"Now  you  keep  out  of  my  workshop  from  this  on. 
You  have  nothing  to  do  with  it.  It's  mine.  I  got 
the  permission  to  make  it."  All  of  which  he  could 
prove,  and  did. 

Alner,  the  youngest,  was  eighteen  months  younger 
than  Yan,  and  about  the  same  size,  but  the  resem- 

30 


His  Adjoining  Brothers 


blance  stopped  there.  His  chief  aim  in  life  was  to 
be  stylish.  He  once  startled  his  mother  by  inserting 
into  his  childish  prayers  the  perfectly  sincere  request : 
"Please,  God,  make  me  an  awful  swell,  for  Jesus 
sake."  Vanity  was  his  foible,  and  laziness  his  sin. 

He  could  be  nattered  into  anything  that  did  not 
involve  effort.  He  fairly  ached  to  be  famous.  He 
was  consuming  with  desire  to  be  pointed  out  for 
admiration  as  the  great  this,  that  or  the  other  thing — 
it  did  not  matter  to  him  what,  as  long  as  he  could  be 
pointed  out.  But  he  never  had  the  least  idea  of 
working  for  it.  At  school  he  was  a  sad  dunce.  He 
was  three  grades  below  Yan  and  at  the  bottom  of 
his  grade.  They  set  out  for  school  each  day  together, 
because  that  was  a  paternal  ruling;  but  they  rarely 
reached  there  together.  They  had  nothing  in  common. 
Yan  was  full  of  warmth,  enthusiasm,  earnestness 
and  energy,  but  had  a  most  passionate  and  ungovern 
able  temper.  Little  put  him  in  a  rage,  but  it  was  soon 
over,  and  then  an  equally  violent  reaction  set  in, 
and  he  was  always  anxious  to  beg  forgiveness  and 
make  friends  again.  Alner  was  of  lazy  good  temper 
and  had  a  large  sense  of  humour.  His  interests 
were  wholly  in  the  playground.  He  had  no  sympathy 
with  Yan's  Indian  tastes — "Indians  in  nasty,  shabby 
clothes.  Bah!  Horrid!"  he  would  scornfully  say. 

These,  then,  were  his  adjoining  brothers. 

What  wonder  that  Yan  was  daily  further  from 
them. 


B 


IV 
The  Book 

UT  the  greatest  event  of  Yan's  then  early  life 
now  took  place.     His  school  readers  told  him 
about  Wilson  and  Audubon,  the  first  and  last 
American  naturalists.     Yan  wondered  why  no  other 
great   prophet  had   arisen.     But  one  day  the  papers 
announced    that     at    length    he    had    appeared.     A 
work  on  the  Birds  of  Canada,  by  .  ,  had  come 

at  last,  price  one  dollar. 

Money  never  before  seemed  so  precious,  necessary 
and  noble  a  thing.     "Oh  !  if  I  only  had  a  dollar." 
He  set  to  work  to  save  and  scrape.     He  won  marbles 
j^-'    (         in  game,   swopped  marbles  for  tops,  tops  for  jack- 
)  knives    as    the    various    games    came    around    with 

]  strange    and    rigid    periodicity.     The   jack-knives  in 

y,\_  turn  were   converted   into  rabbits,  the  rabbits  into 

|\  cash  of  small  denominations.     He  carried  wood  for 

L     %  strange   householders;   he   scraped   and  scraped   and 

.     |  saved  the  scrapings;  and  got,  after  some  months,  as 

1 .  high  as  ninety  cents.     But  there  was  a  dread  fatality 

about  that  last  dime.  No  one  seemed  to  have  any 
more  odd  jobs;  his  commercial  luck  deserted  him. 
He  was  burnt  up  with  craving  for  that  book.  None 
of  his  people  took  interest  enough  in  him  to  advance 

32 


0    o 


The  Book 

the  cash  even  at  the  ruinous  interest  (two  or  three 
times  cent  per  cent)  that  he  was  willing  to  bind  him 
self  for.  Six  weeks  passed  before  he  achieved  that 
last  dime,  and  he  never  felt  conscience-clear  about 
it  afterward. 

He  and  Alner  had  to  cut  the  kitchen  wood.  Each 
had  his  daily  allotment,  as  well  as  other  chores. 
Yan's  was  always  done  faithfully,  but  the  other 
evaded  his  work  in  every  way.  He  was  a 
notorious  little  fop.  The  paternal  poverty  did  not 
permit  his  toilet  extravagance  to  soar  above  one 
paper  collar  per  week,  but  in  his  pocket  he  carried  a 
piece  of  ink  eraser  with  which  he  was  careful  to  keep 
the  paper  collar  up  to  standard.  Yan  cared  nothing 
about  dress — indeed,  was  inclined  to  be  slovenly. 
So  the  eldest  brother,  meaning  to  turn  Alner's  weak 
ness  to  account,  offered  a  prize  of  a  twenty-five-cent 
necktie  of  the  winner's  own  choice  to  the  one  who  did 
his  chores  best  for  a  month.  For  the  first  week 
Alner  and  Yan  kept  even,  then  Alner  wearied,  in 
spite  of  the  dazzling  prize.  The  pace  was  too  hot. 
Yan  kept  on  his  usual  way  and  was  duly  awarded 
the  twenty-five  cents  to  be  spent  on  a  necktie.  But 
in  the  store  a  bright  thought  came  tempting  him. 
Fifteen  cents  was  as  much  as  any  one  should  spend  on 
a  necktie — that's  sure;  the  other  ten  would  get  the 
book.  And  thus  the  last  dime  was  added  to  the  pile. 
Then,  bursting  with  joy  and  with  the  pride  of  a 
capitalist,  he  went  to  the  book-shop  and  asked  for 
the  coveted  volume. 


33 


Two  Little  Savages 

He  was  tense  with  long-pent  feeling.  He  expected 
to  have  the  bookseller  say  that  the  price  had  gone 
up  to  one  thousand  dollars,  and  that  all  were  sold. 
But  he  did  not.  He  turned  silently,  drew  the  book 
out  of  a  pile  of  them,  hesitated  and  said,  "Green  or 
red  cover?" 

"Green,"  said  Yan,  not  yet  believing.     The  book 
man  looked  inside,  then  laid  it  down,  saying  in  a  cold, 
business  tone,  "Ninety  cents." 

"Ninety  cents,"  gasped  Yan.  Oh!  if  only  he  had 
known  the  ways  of  booksellers  or  the  workings  of  cash 
discounts.  For  six  weeks  had  he  been  barred  this 
happy  land — had  suffered  starvation;  he  had  misap 
propriated  funds,  he  had  fractured  his  conscience, 
and  all  to  raise  that  ten  cents — that  unnecessary  dime. 

He  read  that  book  reverentially  all  the  way  home. 
It  did  not  give  him  what  he  wanted,  but  that  doubt 
less  was  his  own  fault.  He  pored  over  it,  studied 
it,  loved  it,  never  doubting  that  now  he  had  the  key 
to  all  the  wonders  and  mysteries  of  Nature.  It  was 
five  years  before  he  fully  found  out  that  the  text 
was  the  most  worthless  trash  ever  foisted  on  a  torpid 
public.  Nevertheless,  the  book  held  some  useful 
things;  first,  a  list  of  the  bird  names;  second,  some 
thirty  vile  travesties  of  Audubon  and  Wilson's  bird 
portraits. 

These  were  the  birds  thus  maligned : 
Duck  Hawk  Shore  Lark 

Sparrow  Hawk  Rose-breasted  Grosbeak 

White-headed  Eagle  Bobolink 

34 


He  already  knew  the  Downy  Woodpecker  " 


The  Book 


Great  Horned  Owl 

Snowy  Owl 

Red  -  headed  Wood 
pecker 

Golden-winged  Wood 
pecker 

Barn -swallow 

Whip-poor-will 

Night  Hawk 

Belted  Kingfisher 

Kingbird 

Woodthrush 

Catbird 

White-bellied  Nuthatch 

Brown  Creeper 

Bohemian  Chatterer 

Great  Northern  Shrike 
But  badly  as  they 

were   yet    information, 


Meadow  Lark 

Blue  jay 

Ruffed  Grouse 

Great  Blue  Heron 

Bittern 

Wilson's  Snipe 

Long-billed  Curlew 

Purple  Gallinule 

Canada  Goose 

Wood  Duck 

Hooded  Merganser 

Double-crested  Cormorant 

Arctic  Tern 

Great  Northern  Diver 

Stormy  Petrel 

Arctic  Puffin 


Black  Guillemot 
were  presented,   the  pictures 
,    and    were    entered    in    his 

memory    as    lasting    accessions  to  his  store  of  truth 
about  the  Wild  Things. 

Of  course,  he  already  knew  some  few  birds  whose 
names  are  familiar  to  every  schoolboy:  the  Robin, 
Bluebird,  Kingbird,  Wild  Canary,  Woodpecker, 
Barn-swallow,  Wren,  Chickadee,  Wild  Pigeon,  Hum 
ming-bird,  Pewee,  so  that  his  list  was  steadily 
increased. 


<r 


V 
The  Collarless  Stranger 

Oh,  sympathy!  the  noblest  gift  of  God  to  man.  The  greatest 
bond  there  is  twixt  man  and  man. 

The  strongest  link  in  any  friendship  chain. 

The  single  lasting  hold  in  kinship's  claim. 

The  only  incorrosive  strand  in  marriage  bonds. 

The  blazing  light  where  genius  lights  her  lamp. 

The  ten  times  noble  base  of  noblest  love. 

More  deep  than  love — more  strong  than  hate — the  biggest  thing 
in  all  the  universe — the  law  of  laws. 

Grant  but  this  greatest  gift  of  God  to  man — this  single  link 
concatenating  grant,  and  all  the  rest  are  worthless  or  comprised. 

EACH  year  the  ancient  springtime  madness  came 
more  strongly  on  Yan.  Each  year  he  was  less 
inclined  to  resist  it,  and  one  glorious  day  of 
late  April  in  its  twelfth  return  he  had  wandered  north 
ward  along  to  a  little  wood  a  couple  of  miles  from 
the  town.  It  was  full  of  unnamed  flowers  and  voices 
and  mysteries.  Every  tree  and  thicket  had  a  voice — 
a  long  ditch  full  of  water  had  many  that  called  to 
him.  "Peep-peep-peep"  they  seemed  to  say  in 
invitation  for  him  to  -come  and  see.  He  crawled 
again  and  again  to  the  ditch  and  watched  and  waited. 
The  loud  whistle  would  sound  only  a  few  rods  away, 
"Peep-peep-peep"  but  ceased  at  each  spot  when  he 


The  Collar  less  Stranger 

came  near — sometimes  before  him,  sometimes  behind, 
but  never  where  he  was.  He  searched  through  a 
small  pool  with  his  hands,  sifted  out  sticks  and  leaves, 
but  found  nothing  else.  A  farmer  going  by  told 
him  it  was  only  a  "spring  Peeper,"  whatever  that  was, 
"some  kind  of  a  critter  in  the  water." 

Under  a  log  not  far  away  Yan  found  a  little  Lizard 
that  tumbled  out  of  sight  into  a  hole.  It  was  the  only 
living  thing  there,  so  he  decided  that  the  "Peeper" 
must  be  a  "Whistling  Lizard."  But  he  was  deter 
mined  to  see  them  when  they  were  calling.  How  was 
it  that  the  ponds  all  around  should  be  full  of  them 
calling  to  him  and  playing  hide  and  seek  and  yet  de 
fying  his  most  careful  search  ?  The  voices  ceased  as 
soon  as  he  came  near,  to  be  gradually  renewed  in  the 
pools  he  had  left.  His  presence  was  a  husher.  He 
lay  for  a  long  time  watching  a  pool,  but  none  of  the 
voices  began  again  in  range  of  his  eye.  At  length, 
after  realizing  that  they  were  avoiding  him,  he  crawled 
to  a  very  noisy  pond  without  showing  himself,  and 
nearer  and  yet  nearer  until  he  was  within  three  feet  of 
a  loud  peeper  in  the  floating  grass.  He  located  the 
spot  within  a  few  inches  and  yet  could  see  nothing. 
He  was  utterly  baffled,  and  lay  there  puzzling  over 
it,  when  suddenly  all  the  near  Peepers  stopped,  and 
Yan  was  startled  by  a  footfall;  and  looking  around, 
he  saw  a  man  within  a  few  feet,  watching  him. 

Yan  reddened — a  stranger  was  always  an  enemy; 
he  had  a  natural  aversion  to  all  such,  and  stared 
awkwardly  as  though  caught  in  crime. 

39 


Two  Little  Savages 

The  man,  a  curious  looking  middle-aged  person, 
was  in  shabby  clothes  and  wore  no  collar.  He  had  a 
tin  box  strapped  on  his  bent  shoulders,  and  in  his 
hands  was  a  long-handled  net.  His  features,  smoth 
ered  in  a  grizzly  beard,  were  very  prominent  and 
rugged.  They  gave  evidence  of  intellectual  force, 
with  some  severity,  but  his  gray-blue  eyes  had  a 
kindly  look. 

He  had  on  a  common,  unbecoming,  hard  felt  hat, 
and  when  he  raised  it  to  admit  the  pleasant  breeze 
Yan  saw  that  the  wearer  had  hair  like  his  own — 
a  coarse,  paleolithic  mane,  piled  on  his  rugged  brow, 
like  a  mass  of  seaweed  lodged  on  some  storm-beaten 
rock. 

"F'what  are  ye  fynding,  my  lad?"  said  he  in  tones 
whose  gentleness  was  in  no  way  obscured  by  a  strong 
Scottish  tang. 

Still  resenting  somewhat  the  stranger's  presence, 
Yan  said: 

"I'm  not  finding  anything;  I  am  only  trying  to 
see  what  that  Whistling  Lizard  is  like." 

The  stranger's  eyes  twinkled.  "Forty  years  ago  Ah 
was  laying  by  a  pool  just  as  Ah  seen  ye  this  morning, 
looking  and  trying  hard  to  read  the  riddle  of  the 
spring  Peeper.  Ah  lay  there  all  day,  aye,  and  mony 
anither  day,  yes,  it  was  nigh  onto  three  years  before 
Ah  found  it  oot.  Ah'll  be  glad  to  save  ye  seeking 
as  long  as  Ah  did,  if  that's  yer  mind.  Ah'll  show  ye 
the  Peeper." 

Then   he  raked   carefully   among  the   leaves   near 

40 


The  Collarless  Stranger 

the  ditch,  and  soon  captured  a  tiny  Frog,  less  than 
an  inch  long. 

"Ther's  your  Whistling  Lizard:  he  no  a  Lizard  at 
all,  but  a  Froggie.  Book  men  call  him  Hyla  pickeringii, 
an'  a  gude  Scotchman  he'd  make,  for  ye  see  the  St. 
Andrew's  cross  on  his  wee  back.  Ye  see  the  whistling 
ones  in  the  water  put  on'y  their  beaks  oot  an'  is  hard 
to  see.  Then  they  sinks  to  the  bottom  when  ye 
come  near.  But  you  tak  this'n  home  and  treat  him 
well  and  ye '11  see  him  blow  out  his  throat  as  big  as 
himsel'  an'  whistle  like  a  steam  engine." 

Yan  thawed  out  now.  He  told  about  the  Lizard 
he  had  seen. 

' '  That  wasna  a  Lizard ;  Ah  niver  see  thim  aboot 
here.  It  must  a  been  a  two-striped  Spelerpes.  A 
Spclcrpes  is  nigh  kin  to  a  Frog — a  kind  of  dry-land 
tadpole,  while  a  Lizard  is  only  a  Snake  with  legs." 

This  was  light  from  heaven.  All  Yan's  distrust 
was  gone.  He  warmed  to  the  stranger.  He  plied 
him  with  questions;  he  told  of  his  getting  the  Bird 
Book.  Oh,  how  the  stranger  did  snort  at  "that 
driveling  trash."  Yan  talked  of  his  perplexities. 
He  got  a  full  hearing  and  intelligent  answers.  His 
mystery  of  the  black  ground-bird  with  a  brown  mate 
was  resolved  into  the  Common  Towhee.  The 
unknown  wonderful  voice  in  the  spring  morning, 
sending  out  its  "cluck,  cluck,  cluck,  clucker,"  in  the 
distant  woods ;  the  large  gray  Woodpecker  that  bored 
in  some  high  stub  and  flew  in  a  blaze  of  gold,  and 
the  wonderful  spotted  bird  with  red  head  and  yellow 


41 


Two  Little  Savages 


wings  and  tail  in  the  taxidermist's  window,  were  all 
resolved  into  one  and  the  same — the  Flicker  or 
Golden-winged  Woodpecker.  The  Hang-nest  and  the 
Oriole  became  one.  The  unknown  poisonous-looking 
blue  Hornet,  that  sat  on  the  mud  with  palpitating 
body,  and  the  strange,  invisible  thing  that  made  the 
mud-nests  inside  old  outbuildings  and  crammed 
them  with  crippled  Spiders,  were  both  identified  as 
the  Mud-wasp  or  Pelop&us. 

A  black  Butterfly  flew  over,  and  Yan  learned  that 
it  was  a  Camberwell  Beauty,  or,  scientifically,  a 
Vanessa  antiopa,  and  that  this  one  must  have 
hibernated  to  be  seen  so  early  in  the  spring,  and 
yet  more,  that  this  beautiful  creature  was  the  glorified 
spirit  of  the  common  brown  and  black  spiney 
Caterpillar. 

The  Wild  Pigeons  were  flying  high  above  them  in 
great  flocks  as  they  sat  there,  and  Yan  learned  of 
their  great  nesting  places  in  the  far  South,  and  of 
their  wonderful  but  exact  migrations  without  regard 
to  anything  but  food;  their  northward  migration 
to  gather  the  winged  nuts  of  the  Slippery  Elm  in 
Canada;  their  August  flight  to  the  rice-fields  of 
Carolina;  their  Mississippi  Valley  pilgrimage  when 
the  acorns  and  beech-mast  were  falling  ripe 

What  a  rich,  full  morning  that  was.  Everything 
seemed  to  turn  up  for  them.  As  they  walked  over 
a  piney  hill,  two  large  birds  sprang  from  the  ground 
and  whirred  through  the  trees. 

"Ruffed  Grouse  or  'pat ridge,"  as  the  farmers  call 


42 


The  Collarless  Stranger 

them.  There's  a  pair  lives  nigh  aboots  here.  They 
come  on  this  bank  for  the  Wintergreen  berries." 

And  Yan  was  quick  to  pull  and  taste  them.  He 
filled  his  pockets  with  the  aromatic  plant — berries 
and  all — and  chewed  it  as  he  went.  While  they 
walked,  a  faint,  far  drum-thump  fell  on  their  ears. 
"What's  that?"  he  exclaimed,  ever  on  the  alert. 
The  stranger  listened  and  said : 

"That's  the  bird  ye  ha'  just  seen;  that's  the  Cock 
Partridge  drumming  for  his  mate." 

The  Pewee  of  his  early  memories  became  the 
Phcebe  of  books.  That  day  his  brookside  singer 
became  the  Song-sparrow;  the  brown  triller,  the 
Veery  Thrush.  The  Trilliums,  white  and  red,  the 
Dogtooth  Violet,  the  Spring-beauty,  the  Trailing 
Arbutus — all  for  the  first  time  got  names  and  became 
real  friends,  instead  of  elusive  and  beautiful,  but 
depressing  mysteries. 

The  stranger  warmed,  too,  and  his  rugged  features 
glowed;  he  saw  in  Yan  one  minded  like  himself,  tor 
mented  with  the  knowledge-hunger,  as  in  youth  he 
himself  had  been ;  and  now  it  was  a  priceless  privilege 
to  save  the  boy  some  of  what  he  had  suffered.  His 
gratitude  to  Yan  grew  fervid,  and  Yan — he  took 
in  every  word;  nothing  that  he  heard  was  forgotten. 
He  was  in  a  dream,  for  he  had  found  at  last  the 
greatest  thing  on  earth — sympathy — broad,  intelli 
gent,  comprehensive  sympathy. 

That  spring  morning  was  ever  after  like  a  new 
epoch  in  Yan's  mind — not  his  memory,  that  was  a 


43 


Arbutus 


Two  Little  Savages 

thing  of  the  past — but  in  his  mind,  his  living 
present. 

And  the  strongest,  realest  thing  in  it  all  was,  not 
the  rugged  stranger  with  his  kind  ways,  not  the  new 
birds  and  plants,  but  the  smell  of  the  Wintergreen. 

Smell's  appeal  to  the  memory  is  far  better,  stronger, 
more  real  than  that  of  any  other  sense.  The  Indians 
know  this;  many  of  them,  in  time,  find  out  the  smell 
that  conjures  up  their  happiest  hours,  and  keep 
it  by  them  in  the  medicine  bag.  It  is  very  real  and 
dear  to  them — that  handful  of  Pine  needles,  that 
lump  of  Rat-musk,  or  that  piece  of  Spruce  gum. 
It  adds  the  crown  of  happy  memory  to  their  reveries. 

And  yet  this  belief  is  one  of  the  first  attacked  by 
silly  White-men,  who  profess  to  enlighten  the  Red 
man's  darkness.  They,  in  their  ignorance,  denounce 
it  as  absurd,  while  men  of  science  know  its  simple 
truth. 

Yan  did  not  know  that  he  had  stumbled  on  a 
secret  of  the  Indian  medicine  bag.  But  ever  after 
ward  that  wonderful  day  was  called  back  to  him, 
conjured  up  by  his  "medicine,"  this  simple,  natural 
magic,  the  smell  of  the  Wintergreen. 

He  appreciated  that  morning  more  than  he  could 
tell,  and  yet  he  did  a  characteristic  foolish  thing, 
that  put  him  in  a  wrong  light  and  left  him  so  in  the 
stranger's  mind. 

It  was  past  noon.  They  had  long  lingered;  the 
stranger  spoke  of  the  many  things  he  had  at  home; 
then  at  length  said  he  must  be  going.  "Weel, 


44 


The  Cottarless  Stranger 


good-by,  laddie;  Ah  hope  Ah'll  see  you  again."  He 
held  out  his  hand.  Yan  shook  it  warmly;  but  he 
was  dazed  with  thinking  and  with  reaction;  his 
diffidence  and  timidity  were  strong;  he  never  rose 
to  the  stranger's  veiled  offer.  He  let  him  go  without 
even  learning  his  name  or  address. 

When  it  was  too  late,  Yan  awoke  to  his  blunder. 
He  haunted  all  those  woods  in  hopes  of  chancing 
on  him  there  again,  but  he  never  did. 


45 


VI 
Glenyan 


OH  !  what  a  song  the  Wild  Geese  sang  that  year ! 
How  their  trumpet  clang  went  thrilling  in  his 
heart,  to  smite  there  new  and  hidden  chords 
that  stirred  and  sang  response.  Was  there  ever  a 
nobler  bird  than  that  great  black-necked  Swan,  that 
sings  not  at  his  death,  but  in  his  flood  of  life,  a  song  of 
home  and  of  peace — of  stirring  deeds  and  hunting  in 
far-off  climes — of  hungerings  and  food,  and  raging 
thirsts  to  meet  with  cooling  drink.  A  song  of  wind 
and  marching,  a  song  of  bursting  green  and  grinding 
ice — of  Arctic  secrets  and  of  hidden  ways.  A  song 
of  a  long  black  marsh,  a  low  red  sky,  and  a  sun  that 
never  sets. 

An  Indian  jailed  for  theft  bore  bravely  through 
the  winter,  but  when  the  springtime  brought  the 
Gander-clang  in  the  black  night  sky,  he  started,  fell, 
and  had  gone  to  his  last,  long,  hunting  home. 

Who  can  tell  why  Jericho  should  fall  at  the  trumpet 
blast  ? 

Who  can  read  or  measure  the  power  of  the  Honker- 
song? 

Oh,  what  a  song  the  Wild  Geese  sang  that  year  ! 
And  yet,  was  it  a  new  song?  No,  the  old,  old  song, 


46 


Glenyan 

but  Yan  heard  it  with  new  ears.  He  was  learn 
ing  to  read  its  message.  He  wandered  on  their 
trailless  track,  as  often  as  he  could,  northward, 
ever  northward,  up  the  river  from  the  town,  and 
up,  seeking  the  loneliest  ways  and  days.  The  river 
turned  to  the  east,  but  a  small  stream  ran  into 
it  from  the  north :  up  that  Yan  went  through  thick 
ening  woods  and  walls  that  neared  each  other,  on 
and  up  until  the  walls  closed  to  a  crack,  then 
widened  out  into  a  little  dale  that  was  still  full 
of  original  forest  trees.  Hemlock,  Pine,  Birch  and 
Elm  of  the  largest  size  abounded  and  spread  over  the 
clear  brook  a  continuous  shade.  Fox  vines  trailed  in 
the  open  places,  the  rarest  wild-flowers  flourished, 
Red-squirrels  chattered  from  the  trees.  In  the  mud 
along  the  brook-side  were  tracks  of  Coon  and  Mink  and 
other  strange  fourfoots.  And  in  the  trees  overhead, 
the  Veery,  the  Hermit -thrush,  or  even  a  Woodthrush 
sang  his  sweetly  solemn  strain,  in  that  golden  twi 
light  of  the  midday  forest.  Yan  did  not  know  them 
all  by  name  as  yet,  but  he  felt  their  vague  charm  and 
mystery.  It  seemed  such  a  far  and  lonely  place,  so 
unspoiled  by  man,  that  Yan  persuaded  himself  that 
surely  he  was  the  first  human  being  to  stand  there, 
that  it  was  his  by  right  of  discovery,  and  so  he  claimed 
it  and  named  it  after  its  discoverer — Glenyan. 

This  place  became  the  central  thought  in  his  life. 
He  went  there  at  all  opportunities,  but  never  dared 
to  tell  any  one  of  his  discovery.  He  longed  for  a 
confidant  sometimes,  he  hankered  to  meet  the 


47 


Two  Little  Savages 


stranger  and  take  him  there,  and  still  he  feared  that 
the  secret  would  get  out.  This  was  his  little  kingdom ; 
the  Wild  Geese  had  brought  him  here,  as  the  Seagulls 
had  brought  Columbus  to  a  new  world — where  he 
could  lead,  for  brief  spells,  the  woodland  life  that 
was  his  ideal.  He  was  tender  enough  to  weep  over 
the  downfall  of  a  lot  of  fine  Elm  trees  in  town,  when 
their  field  was  sold  for  building  purposes,  and  he 
used  to  suffer  a  sort  of  hungry  regret  when  old  settlers 
told  how  plentiful  the  Deer  used  to  be.  But  now  he 
had  a  relief  from  these  sorrows,  for  surely  there  was  one 
place  where  the  great  trees  should  stand  and  grow  as 
in  the  bright  bygone;  where  the  Coon,  the  Mink  and 
the  Partridge  should  live  and  flourish  forever.  No, 
indeed,  no  one  else  should  know  of  it,  for  if  the  secret 
got  out,  at  least  hosts  of  visitors  would  come  and 
Glenyan  be  defiled.  No,  better  that  the  secret 
should  "die  with  him,"  he  said.  What  that  meant 
he  did  not  really  know,  but  he  had  read  the  phrase 
somewhere  and  he  liked  the  sound  of  it.  Possibly 
he  would  reveal  it  on  his  deathbed. 

Yes,  that  was  the  proper  thing,  and  he  pictured  a 
harrowing  scene  of  weeping  relatives  around,  himself 
as  central  figure,  all  ceasing  their  wailing  and  gasping 
with  wonder  as  he  made  known  the  mighty  secret  of 
his  life — delicious  !  it  was  almost  worth  dying  for. 

So  he  kept  the  place  to  himself  and  loved  it  more 
and  more.  He  would  look  out  through  the  thick 
Hemlock  tops,  the  blots  of  Basswood  green  or  the 
criss-cross  Butternut  leafage  and  say:  "My  own,  my 


Glenyan 

own."  Or  down  by  some  pool  in  the  limpid  stream 
he  would  sit  and  watch  the  arrowy  Shiners  and  say: 
"You  are  mine,  all;  you  are  mine.  You  shall  never 
be  harmed  or  driven  away." 

A  spring  came  from  the  hillside  by  a  green  lawn, 
and  here  Yan  would  eat  his  sandwiches  varied  with 
nuts  and  berries  that  he  did  not  like,  but  ate  only 
because  he  was  a  wildman,  and  would  look  lovingly 
up  the  shady  brookland  stretches  and  down  to  the 
narrow  entrance  of  the  glen,  and  say  and  think  and 
feel,  "This  is  mine,  my  own,  my  very  own." 


VII 
The  Shanty 

HE  had  none  but  the  poorest. of  tools,  but  he  set 
about  building  a  shanty.     He  was  not  a  re 
sourceful  boy.     His  effort  to  win  the  book  had 
been  an  unusual  one  for  him,  as  his  instincts  were  not 
at    all   commercial.     When  that  matter  came  to  the 
knowledge  of  the  Home  Government,  he  was  rebuked 
for  doing  "work  unworthy  of  a  gentleman's  son"  and 
forbidden    under   frightful   penalties  "ever   again   to 
resort  to  such  degrading  ways  of  raising  money." 

They  gave  him  no  money,  so  he  was  penniless. 
Most  boys  would  have  possessed  themselves  somehow 
of  a  good  axe  and  spade.  He  had  neither.  An 
old  plane  blade,  fastened  to  a  stick  with  nails,  was 
all  the  axe  and  spade  he  had,  yet  with  this  he  set  to 
work  and  offset  its  poorness  as  a  tool  by  dogged 
persistency.  First,  he  selected  the  quietest  spot  near 
the  spring — a  bank  hidden  by  a  mass  of  foliage.  He 
knew  no  special  reason  for  hiding  it,  beyond  the  love 
of  secrecy.  He  had  read  in  some  of  his  books  "how 
the  wily  scouts  led  the  way  through  a  pathless  jungle, 
pulled  aside  a  bough  and  there  revealed  a  comfortable 
dwelling  that  none  without  the  secret  could  possibly 
have  discovered,"  so  it  seemed  very  proper  to  make  it 

50 


The  Shanty 

a  complete  mystery — a  sort  of  secret  panel  in  the 
enchanted  castle — and  so  picture  himself  as  the  wily 
scout  leading  his  wondering  companions  to  the  shanty, 
though,  of  course,  he  had  not  made  up  his  mind  to 
reveal  his  secret  to  any  one.  He  often  wished  he 
could  have  the  advantage  of  R'ad's  strong  arms  and 
efficacious  tools;  but  the  workshop  incident  was  only 
one  of  many  that  taught  him  to  leave  his  brother  out 
of  all  calculation. 

Mother  Earth  is  the  best  guardian  of  a  secret,  and 
Yan  with  his  crude  spade  began  by  digging  a  hole  in 
the  bank.  The  hard  blue  clay  made  the  work  slow, 
but  two  holidays  spent  in  steady  labour  resulted  in  a 
hole  seven  feet  wide  and  about  four  feet  into  the  bank. 

In  this  he  set  about  building  the  shanty.  Logs 
seven  or  eight  feet  long  must  be  got  to  the  place — 
at  least  twenty-five  or  thirty  would  be  needed,  and 
how  to  cut  and  handle  them  with  his  poor  axe  was 
a  question.  Somehow,  he  never  looked  for  a  better 
axe.  The  half -formed  notion  that  the  Indians  had 
no  better  was  sufficient  support,  and  he  struggled 
away  bravely,  using  whatever  ready  sized  material 
he  could  find.  Each  piece  as  he  brought  it  was  put 
into  place.  Some  boys  would  have  gathered  the 
logs  first  and  built  it  all  at  once,  but  that  was  net 
Yan's  way;  he  was  too  eager  to  see  the  walls  rise. 
He  had  painfully  and  slowly  gathered  logs  enough 
to  raise  the  walls  three  rounds,  when  the  question  of  a 
door  occurred  to  him.  This,  of  course,  could  not 
be  cut  through  the  logs  in  the  ordinary  wav;  that 


Two  Little  Savages 

required  the  best  of  tools.  So  he  lifted  out  all  the 
front  logs  except  the  lowest,  replacing  them  at  the 
ends  with  stones  and  blocks  to  sustain  the  sides. 
This  gave  him  the  sudden  gain  of  two  logs,  and 
helped  the  rest  of  the  walls  that  much.  The  shanty 
was  now  about  three  feet  high,  and  no  two  logs  in  it 
were  alike:  some  were  much  too  long,  most  were 
crooked  and  some  were  half  rotten,  for  the  simple 
reason  that  these  were  the  only  ones  he  could  cut.  He 
had  exhausted  the  logs  in  the  neighbourhood  and 
was  forced  to  go  farther.  Now  he  remembered  seeing 
one  that  might  do,  half  a  mile  away  on  the  home 
trail  (they  were  always  "trails";  he  never  called 
them  "roads"  or  "paths").  He  went  after  this,  and 
to  his  great  surprise  and  delight  found  that  it  was  one 
of  a  dozen  old  cedar  posts  that  had  been  cut  long 
before  and  thrown  aside  as  culls,  or  worthless.  He 
could  carry  only  one  at  a  time,  so  that  to  bring  each 
one  meant  a  journey  of  a  mile,  and  the  post  got  woe 
fully  heavy  each  time  before  that  mile  was  over. 
To  get  those  twelve  logs  he  had  twelve  miles  to 
walk.  It  took  several  Saturdays,  but  he  stuck 
doggedly  to  it.  Twelve  good  logs  completed  his 
shanty,  making  it  five  feet  high  and  leaving  three  logs 
over  for  rafters.  These  he  laid  flat  across,  dividing 
the  spaces  equally.  Over  them  he  laid  plenty  of  small 
sticks  and  branches  till  it  was  thickly  covered.  Then 
he  went  down  to  a  rank,  grassy  meadow  and,  with 
his  knife,  cut  hay  for  a  couple  of  hours.  This  was 
spread  thickly  on  the  roof,  to  be  covered  with  strips 

52 


The  Shanty 

of  Elm  bark ;  then  on  top  of  all  he  threw  the  clay  dug 
from  the  bank,  piling  it  well  back,  stamping  on  it,  and 
working  it  down  at  the  edges.  Finally,  he  threw 
rubbish  and  leaves  over  it,  so  that  it  was  confused 
with  the  general  tangle. 

Thus  the  roof  was  finished,  but  the  whole  of  the 
front  was  open.  He  dreaded  the  search  for  more 
logs,  so  tried  a  new  plan.  He  found,  first,  some 
sticks  about  six  feet  long  and  two  or  three  inches 
through.  Not  having  an  axe  to  sharpen  and  drive 
them,  he  dug  pairs  of  holes  a  foot  deep,  one  at  each 
end  and  another  pair  near  the  middle  of  the  front 
ground  log. 

Into  each  of  these  he  put  a  pair  of  upright  sticks, 
leading  up  to  the  eave  log,  one  inside  and  one  outside 
of  it,  then  packed  the  earth  around  them  in  the  holes. 
Next,  he  went  to  the  brook-side  and  cut  a  number 
of  long  green  willow  switches  about  half  an  inch 
thick  at  the  butt.  These  switches  he  twisted  around 
the  top  of  each  pair  of  stakes  in  a  figure  8,  placing 
them  to  hold  the  stake  tight  against  the  bottom  and 
top  logs  at  the  front. 

Down  by  the  spring  he  now  dug  a  hole  and  worked 
water  and  clay  together  into  mortar,  then  with  a 
trowel  cut  out  of  a  shingle,  and  mortar  carried  in  an 
old  bucket,  he  built  a  wall  within  the  stakes,  using 
sticks  laid  along  the  outside  and  stones  set  in  mud 
till  the  front  was  closed  up,  except  a  small  hole  for 
a  window  and  a  large  hole  for  a  door. 

Now  he  set  about  finishing  the  inside.    He  gathered 

53 


?ivor/or 
hiti  of 


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t 

.    ' 

- 

i 

; 

/  1 

y 
j 

i 
i 

i 

(i{ 

\ 

•" 

* 

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! 
I 

y| 

flllli 

I|(H 

Two  Little  Savages 

moss  in  the  woods  and  stuffed  all  the  chinks  in  the 
upper  parts,  and  those  next  the  ground  he  filled  with 
stones  and  earth.  Thus  the  shanty  was  finished; 
but  it  lacked  a  door. 

The  opening  was  four  feet  high  and  two  feet  wide, 
so  in  the  woodshed  at  home  he  cut  three  boards, 
each  eight  inches  wide  and  four  feet  high,  but  he  left 
at  each  end  of  one  a  long  point.  Doing  this  at  home 
gave  him  the  advantage  of  a  saw.  Then  with  these 
and  two  shorter  boards,  each  two  feet  long  and  six 
inches  wide,  he  sneaked  out  to  Glenyan,  and  there, 
with  some  nails  and  a  stone  for  a  hammer,  he  fastened 
them  together  into  a  door.  In  the  ground  log  he 
pecked  a  hole  big  enough  to  receive  one  of  the  points 
and  made  a  corresponding  hole  in  the  under  side  of 
the  top  log.  Then,  prying  up  the  eave  log,  he  put 
the  door  in  place,  let  the  eave  log  down  again,  and 
the  door  was  hung.  A  string  to  it  made  an  outside 
fastening  when  it  was  twisted  around  a  projecting 
snag  in  the  wall,  and  a  peg  thrust  into  a  hole  within 
made  an  inside  fastener.  Some  logs,  with  fir  boughs 
and  dried  grass,  formed  a  bunk  within.  This  left 
only  the  window,  and  for  lack  of  better  cover  he 
fastened  over  it  a  piece  of  muslin  brought  from  home. 
But  finding  its  dull  white  a  jarring  note,  he  gathered 
a  quart  of  butternuts,  and  watching  his  chance  at 
home,  he  boiled  the  cotton  in  water  with  the  nuts 
and  so  reduced  it  to  a  satisfactory  yellowish  brown. 

His  final  task  was  to  remove  all  appearance  of 
disturbance  and  to  fully  hide  the  shanty  in  brush 


54 


The  Shanty 

and  trailing  vines.  Thus,  after  weeks  of  labour,  his 
woodland  home  was  finished.  It  was  only  five  feet 
high  inside,  six  feet  long  and  six  feet  wide — dirty 
and  uncomfortable — but  what  a  happiness  it  was  to 
have  it. 

Here  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  began  to  realize 
something  of  th?  pleasure  of  single-handed  achieve 
ment  in  the  line  of  a  great  ambition. 


55 


VIII 
Beginnings  of  Woodlore 

DURING  this  time  Yan  had  so  concentrated  all  his 
powers  on  the  shanty  that  he  had  scarcely  noticed 
the  birds  and  wild  things .  Such  was  his  tempera 
ment — one  idea  only,  and  that  with  all  his  strength. 

His  heart  was  more  and  more  in  his  kingdom  now; 
he  longed  to  come  and  live  here.  But  he  only  dared 
to  dream  that  some  day  he  might  be  allowed  to  pass 
a  night  in  the  shanty.  This  was  where  he  would 
lead  his  ideal  life — the  life  of  an  Indian  with  all  that 
is  bad  and  cruel  left  out.  Here  he  would  show  men 
how  to  live  without  cutting  down  all  the  trees, 
spoiling  all  the  streams,  and  killing  every  living 
thing.  He  would  learn  how  to  get  the  fullest  pleasure 
out  of  the  woods  himself  and  then  teach  others  how 
to  do  the  same.  Though  the  birds  and  Fourfoots 
fascinated  him,  he  would  not  have  hesitated  to  shoot 
one  had  he  been  able;  but  to  see  a  tree  cut  down 
always  caused  him  great  distress.  Possibly  he 
realized  that  the  bird  might  be  quickly  replaced, 
but  the  tree,  never. 

To  carry  out  his  plan  he  must  work  hard  at 
school,  for  books  had  much  that  he  needed.  Perhaps 
corne  day  he  might  get  a  chance  to  see  Audubon's 

56 


Beginnings  of  "Woodlore 

drawings,  and  so  have  all  his  bird  worries  settled  by 
a  single  book. 

That  summer  a  new  boy  at  school  added  to  Yan's 
savage  equipment.  This  boy  was  neither  good  nor 
bright;  he  was  a  dunce,  and  had  been  expelled  from 
a  boarding  school  for  misconduct,  but  he  had  a 
number  of  schoolboy  accomplishments  that  gave 
him  a  tinge  of  passing  glory.  He  could  tie  a  lot  of 
curious  knots  in  a  string.  He  could  make  a  wonderful 
birdy  warble,  and  he  spoke  a  language  that  he  called 
Tutnee.  Yan.  was  interested  in  all,  but  especially 
the  last.  He  teased  and  bribed  till  he  was  admitted 
to  the  secret.  It  consisted  in  spelling  every  word, 
leaving  the  five  vowels  as  they  are,  but  doubling  each 
consonant  and  putting  a  "u"  between.  Thus  "b" 
became  "bub,"  "d"  "dud,"  "m"  "mum,"  and  so 
forth,  except  that  "c"  was  "suk,"  "h"  "hash,"  "x" 
"zux,"  and  "w"  "wak." 

The  sample  given  by  the  new  boy,  "  sus-hash-u-tut 
u-pup  yak-o-u-rur  mum-o-u-tut-hash,"  was  said  to  be 
a  mode  of  enjoining  silence. 

This  language  was  "awful  useful,"  the  new  boy 
said,  to  keep  the  other  fellows  from  knowing  what  you 
were  saying,  which  it  certainly  did.  Yan  practised 
hard  at  it  and  within  a  few  weeks  was  an  adept.  He 
could  handle  the  uncouth  sentences  better  than  his 
teacher,  and  he  was  singularly  successful  in  throwing 
in  accents  and  guttural  tones  that  imparted  a  delight 
fully  savage  flavour,  and  he  rejoiced  in  jabbering 
away  to  the  new  boy  in  the  presence  of  others  so 

57 


Two  Little  Savages 

that  he  might  bask  in  the  mystified  look  on  the 
faces  of  those  wno  were  not  skilled  in  the  tongue  of 
the  Tutnees. 

He  made  himself  a  bow  and  arrows.  They  were 
badly  made  and  he  could  hit  nothing  with  them, 
but  he  felt  so  like  an  Indian  when  he  drew  the  arrow 
to  its  head,  that  it  was  another  pleasure. 

He  made  a  number  of  arrows  with  hoop-iron  heads : 
these  he  could  file  at  home  in  the  woodshed.  The 
heads  were  jagged  and  barbed  and  double-barbed. 
These  arrows  were  frightful -looking  things.  They 
seemed  positively  devilish  in  their  ferocity,  and  were 
proportionately  gratifying.  These  he  called  his 
"war  arrows,"  and  would  send  one  into  a  tree  and 
watch  it  shiver,  then  grunt  "Ugh,  heap  good,"  and 
rejoice  in  the  squirming  of  the  imaginary  foe  he  had 
pierced. 

He  found  a  piece  of  sheepskin  and  made  of  it 
a  pair  of  very  poor  moccasins.  He  ground  an  old 
castaway  putty  knife  into  a  scalping  knife ;  the  notch 
in  it  for  breaking  glass  was  an  annoying  defect  until 
he  remembered  that  some  Indians  decorate  their 
weapons  with  a  notch  for  each  enemy  it  has  killed, 
and  this,  therefore,  might  do  duty  as  a  kill-tally. 
He  made  a  sheath  for  the  knife  out  of  scraps  of  leather 
left  off  the  moccasins.  Some  water-colours,  acquired 
by  a  school  swap,  and  a  bit  of  broken  mirror  held  in 
a  split  stick,  were  necessary  parts  of  his  Indian  toilet. 
His  face  during  the  process  of  make-up  was  always 
a  battle-ground  between  the  horriblest  Indian  scowl 

58 


Beginnings  of  Woodlore 

and  a  grin  of  delight  at  his  success  in  diabolizing  his 
visage  with  the  paints.  Then  with  painted  face  and 
a  feather  in  his  hair  he  would  proudly  range  the  woods 
in  his  little  kingdom  and  store  up  every  scrap  of 
woodlore  he  could  find,  invent  or  learn  from  his 
schoolmates. 

Odd  things  that  he  found  in  the  woods  he  would 
bring  to  his  shanty:  curled  sticks,  feathers,  bones, 
skulls,  fungus,  shells,  an  old  cowhorn — things  that 
interested  him,  he  did  not  know  why.  He  made 
Indian  necklaces  of  the  shells,  strung  together  alter 
nately  with  the  backbone  of  a  fish.  He  let  his  hair 
grow  as  long  as  possible,  employing  various  stratagems, 
even  the  unpalatable  one  of  combing  it  to  avoid  the 
monthly  trim  of  the  maternal  scissors.  He  lay  for 
hours  with  the  sun  beating  on  his  face  to  correct  his 
colour  to  standard,  and  the  only  semblance  of  personal 
vanity  that  he  ever  had  was  pleasure  in  hearing 
disparaging  remarks  about  the  darkness  of  his  com 
plexion.  He  tried  to  do  everything  as  an  Indian 
would  do  it,  striking  Indian  poses,  walking  carefully 
with  his  toes  turned  in,  breaking  off  twigs  to  mark  a 
place,  guessing  at  the  time  by  the  sun,  and  grunting 
"Ugh"  or  "Wagh"  when  anything  surprised  him. 
Disparaging  remarks  about  White-men,  delivered  in 
supposed  Indian  dialect,  were  an  important  part  of 
his  pastime.  "Ugh,  White-men  heap  no  good"  and 
"Wagh,  paleface — pale  fool  in  woods,"  were  among 
his  favourites. 

He   was  much   influenced  by  phrases  that  caught 

61 


Two  Little  Savages 


his  ear.  "The  brown  sinewy  arm  of  the  Indian," 
was  one  of  them.  It  discovered  to  him  that  his 
own  arms  were  white  as  milk.  There  was,  however, 
a  simple  remedy.  He  rolled  up  his  sleeves  to  the 
shoulder  and  exposed  them  to  the  full  glare  of  the 
sun.  Then  later,  under  the  spell  of  the  familiar 
phrase,  "The  warrior  was  naked  to  the  waist,"  he 
went  a  step  further — he  determined  to  be  brown  to 
the  waist — so  discarded  his  shirt  during  the  whole 
of  one  holiday.  He  always  went  to  extremes. 
He  remembered  now  that  certain  Indians  put  their 
young  warriors  through  an  initiation  called  th'3 
Sun-dance,  so  he  danced  naked  round  the  fire 
in  the  blazing  sun  and  sat  around  naked  all  one 
day. 

He  noticed  a  general  warmness  before  evening, 
but  it  was  at  night  that  he  really  felt  the  punishment 
of  his  indiscretion.  He  was  in  a  burning  heat.  He 
scarcely  slept  all  night.  Next  day  he  was  worse, 
and  his  arm  and  shoulder  were  blistered.  He  bore 
it  bravely,  fearing  only  that  the  Home  Government 
might  find  it  out,  in  which  case  he  would  have  fared 
worse.  He  had  read  that  the  Indians  grease  the 
skin  for  sunburn,  so  he  went  to  the  bathroom  and 
there  used  goose  grease  for  lack  of  Buffalo  fat. 
This  did  give  some  relief,  and  in  a  few  days  he  was 
better  and  had  the  satisfaction  of  peeling  the  dead 
skin  from  his  shoulders  and  arms. 

Yan  made  a  number  of  vessels  out  of  Birch 
bark,  stitching  the  edges  with  root  fibers,  filling  the 

62 


Beginnings  of  Woodlore 

bottom  with  a  round  wooden  disc,  and  cementing 
the  joints  with  pine  gum  so  that  they  would  hold 
water. 

In  the  distant  river  he  caught  some  Catfish  and 
brought  them  home — that  is,  to  his  shanty.  There 
he  made  a  fire  and  broiled  them — very  badly — but 
he  ate  them  as  a  great  delicacy.  The  sharp  bone  in 
each  of  their  side  fins  he  saved,  bored  a  hole  through 
its  thick  end,  smoothed  it,  and  so  had  needles  to  stitch 
his  Birch  bark.  He  kept  them  in  a  bark  box  with  some 
lumps  of  resin,  along  with  some  bark  fiber,  an  Indian 
flint  arrow-head  given  him  by  a  schoolmate,  and  the 
claws  of  a  large  Owl,  found  in  the  garbage  heap  back 
of  the  taxidermist's  shop. 

One  day  on  the  ash  heap  in  their  own  yard  in  town 
he  saw  a  new,  strange  bird.  He  was  always  seeing 
new  birds,  but  this  was  of  unusual  interest.  He  drew 
its  picture  as  it  tamely  fed  near  him.  A  dull,  ashy 
gray,  with  bronzy  yellow  spots  on  crown  and  rump, 
and  white  bars  on  its  wings.  His  "Birds  of  Canada" 
gave  no  light;  he  searched  through  all  the  books  he 
could  find,  but  found  no  clew  to  its  name.  It  was 
years  afterward  before  he  learned  that  this  was  the 
young  male  Pine  Grosbeak. 

Another  day,  under  the  bushes  not  far  from  his 
shanty,  he  found  a  small  Hawk  lying  dead.  He 
clutched  it  as  a  wonderful  prize,  spent  an  hour  in 
looking  at  its  toes,  its  beak,  its  wings,  its  every 
feather;  then  he  set  to  work  to  make  a  drawing  of  it. 
A  very  bad  drawing  it  proved,  although  it  was  the 

63 


Two  Little  Savages 


labour  of  days,  and  the  bird  was  crawling  with  mag 
gots  before  he  had  finished.  But  every  feather  and 
every  spot  was  faithfully  copied,  was  duly  set  down 
on  paper.  One  of  his  friends  said  it  was  a  Chicken- 
hawk.  That  name  stuck  in  Yan's  memory.  Thence 
forth  the  Chicken-hawk  and  its  every  marking  were 
familiar  to  him.  Even  in  after  years,  when  he  had 
learned  that  this  must  have  been  a  young  "Sharp- 
shin,"  the  name  "Chicken-hawk"  was  always  readier 
on  his  lips. 

But  he  met  with  another  and  a  different  Hawk  soon 
afterward.  This  one  was  alive  and  flitting  about  in 
the  branches  of  a  tree  over  his  head.  It  was  very 
small — less  than  a  foot  in  length.  Its  beak  was  very 
short,  its  legs,  wings  and  tail  long;  its  head  was 
bluish  and  its  back  coppery  red;  on  the  tail  was  a 
broad,  black  crossbar.  As  the  bird  flew  about  and 
balanced  on  the  boughs,  it  pumped  its  tail.  This 
told  him  it  was  a  Hawk,  and  the  colours  he  remem 
bered  were  those  of  the  male  Sparrow-hawk,  for  here 
his  bird  book  helped  with  its  rude  travesty  of  "Wil 
son's"  drawing  of  this  bird.  Yet  two  other  birds  he 
saw  close  at  hand  and  drew  partly  from  memory. 
The  drawings  were  like  this,  and  from  the  picture 
on  a  calendar  he  learned  that  one  was  a  Rail; 
from  a  drawing  in  the  bird  book  that  the  other  was 
a  Bobolink.  And  these  names  he  never  forgot.  He 
had  his  doubts  about  the  sketching  at  first — it 
seemed  an  un-Indian  thing  to  do,  until  he  remembered 
that  the  Indians  painted  pictures  on  their  shields  and 

64 


Beginnings  of  "Wbocttore 

on  their  teepees.     It  was  /eally  the  best  of  all  ways 
for  him  to  make  reliable  observation. 

The  bookseller  of  the  town  had  some  new  books 
in  his  window  about  this  time.  One,  a  marvellous 
work  called  "Poisonous  Plants,"  Yan  was  eager  to 
see.  It  was  exposed  in  the  window  for  a  time.  Two 
of  the  large  plates  were  visible  from  the  street;  one 
was  Henbane,  the  other  Stramonium.  Yan  gazed  at 
them  as  often  as  he  could.  In  a  week  they  were  gone; 
but  the  names  and  looks  were  forever  engraved  on 
his  memory.  Had  he  made  bold  to  go  in  and  ask 
permission  to  see  the  work,  his  memory  would  have 
seized  most  of  it  in  an  hour. 


IX 
Tracks 

IN  the  wet  sand  down  by  the  edge  of  the  brook  he 
one  day  found  some  curious  markings — evidently 
tracks.  Yan  pored  over  them,  then  made  a  life- 
size  drawing  of  one.  He  shrewdly  suspected  it  to  be  the 
track  of  a  Coon — nothing  was  too  good  or  wild  or 
rare  for  his  valley.  As  soon  as  he  could,  he  showed 
the  track  to  the  stableman  whose  dog  was  said  to 
have  killed  a  Coon  once,  and  hence  the  man  must  be 
an  authority  on  the  subject. 

"Is  that  a  Coon  track?"  asked  Yan  timidly. 

"How  do  I  know?"  said  the  man  roughly, 
and  went  on  with  his  work.  But  a  stranger  standing 
near,  a  curious  person  with  shabby  clothes,  and  a 
new  silk  hat  on  the  back  of  his  head,  said,  "Let  me 
see  it."  Yan  showed  it. 

"Is  it  natural  size?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Yep,  that's  a  Coon  track,  all  right.  You  look  at 
all  the  big  trees  near  about  whar  you  saw  that;  then 
when  you  find  one  with  a  hole  in  it,  you  look  on  the 
bark  and  you  will  find  some  Coon  hars.  Then  you 
will  know  you've  got  a  Coon  tree." 

Yan  took  the  earliest  chance.     He  sought  and  found 


66 


Tracks 

a  great  Basswood  with  some  gray  hairs  caught  in  the 
bark.  He  took  them  home  with  him,  not  sure  what 
kind  they  were.  He  sought  the  stranger,  but  he  was 
gone,  and  no  one  knew  him. 

How  to  identify  the  hairs  was  a  question;  but  he 
remembered  a  friend  who  had  a  Coon-skin  carriage 
robe.  A  few  hairs  of  these  were  compared  with 
those  from  the  tree  and  left  no  doubt  that  the  climber 
was  a  Coon.  Thus  Yan  got  the  beginning  of  the  idea 
that  the  very  hairs  of  each,  as  well  as  its  tracks,  are 
different.  He  learned,  also,  how  wise  it  is  to  draw 
everything  that  he  wished  to  observe  or  describe. 
It  was  accident,  or  instinct  on  his  part,  but  he  had 
fallen  on  a  sound  principle;  there  is  nothing  like  a 
sketch  to  collect  and  convey  accurate  information 
of  form — there  is  no  better  developer  of  true 
observation. 

One  day  he  noticed  a  common  plant  like  an 
umbrella.  He  dug  it  up  by  the  root,  and  at  the 
lower  end  he  found  a  long  white  bulb.  He  tasted 
this.  It  was  much  like  a  cucumber.  He  looked  up 
"Gray's  School  Botany,"  and  in  the  index  saw  the 
name,  Indian  Cucumber.  The  description  seemed 
to  tally,  as  far  as  he  could  follow  its  technical  terms, 
though  like  all  such,  without  a  drawing  it  was  far 
from  satisfactory.  So  he  added  the  Indian  Cucumber 
to  his  woodlore. 

On  another  occasion  he  chewed  the  leaves  of  a 
strange  plant  because  he  had  heard  that  that  was 
the  first  test  applied  by  the  Indians.  He  soon  began 


69 


Two  Little  Savages 

to  have  awful  pains  in  his  stomach.  He  hurried 
home  in  agony.  His  mother  gave  him  mustard  and 
water  till  he  vomited,  then  she  boxed  his  ears.  His 
father  came  in  during  the  process  and  ably  supple 
mented  the  punishment.  He  was  then  and  there 
ordered  to  abstain  forever  from  the  woods.  Of 
course,  he  did  not.  He  merely  became  more  cautious 
about  it  all,  and  enjoyed  his  shanty  with  the  added 
zest  of  secret  sin. 


70 


X 


Biddy's  Contribution 

AN  Irish-Canadian  servant  girl  from  Sanger  now 
became  a  member  of  their  household.  Her 
grandmother  was  an  herb-doctor  in  great  re 
pute.  She  had  frequently  been  denounced  as  a  witch, 
although  in  good  standing  as  a  Catholic.  This  girl  had 
picked  up  some  herb-lore,  and  one  day  when  all  the 
family  were  visiting  the  cemetery  she  darted  into 
various  copses  and  produced  plants  which  she  named, 
together  with  the  complaint  that  her  grandmother 
used  them  for. 

"Sassafras,  that  makes  tea  for  skin  disease; 
Ginseng,  that's  good  to  sell;  Bloodroot  for  the  blood 
in  springtime;  Goldthread,  that  cures  sore  mouths; 
Pipsissewa  for  chills  and  fever;  White-man's  Foot, 
that  springs  up  wherever  a  White-man  treads; 
Indian  cup,  that  grows  where  an  Indian  dies;  Dande 
lion  roots  for  coffee;  Catnip  tea  for  a  cold;  Lavender 
tea  for  drinking  at  meals ;  Injun  Tobacco  to  mix  with 
boughten  tobacco;  Hemlock  bark  to  dye  pink; 
Goldthread  to  dye  yellow,  and  Butternut  rinds  for 
greenish." 

All  of  these  were  passing  trifles  to  the  others,  but 
to  Yan  they  were  the  very  breath  of  life,  and  he 


71 


Two  Little  Savages 

treasured  up  all  of  these  things  in  his  memory. 
Biddy's  information  was  not  unmixed  with  error 
and  superstition: 

"Hold  Daddy  Longlegs  by  one  leg  and  say,  'tell 
me  where  the  cows  are,'  and  he  will  point  just  right 
under  another  leg,  and  onct  he  told  me  where  to 
find  my  necklace  when  I  lost  it. 

1 '  Shoot  the  Swallows  and  the  cows  give  bloody 
milk.  That's  the  way  old  Sam  White  ruined  his 
milk  business — shooting  Swallows. 

"Lightning  never  strikes  a  barn  where  Swallows 
nest.  Paw  never  rested  easy  after  the  new  barn 
was  built  till  the  Swallows  nested  in  it.  He  had  it 
insured  for  a  hundred  dollars  till  the  Swallows  got 
round  to  look  after  it. 

"When  a  Measuring-worm  crawls  on  you,  you  are 
going  to  get  a  new  suit  of  clothes.  My  brother-in-law 
says  they  walk  over  him  every  year  in  summer  and 
sure  enough,  he  gets  a  new  suit.  But  they  never 
does  it  in  winter,  cause  he  don't  get  new  clothes 
then. 

"Split  a  Crow's  tongue  and  he  will  talk  like  a  girl. 
Granny  knowed  a  man  that  had  a  brother  back  of 
Mara  that  got  a  young  Crow  and  split  his  tongue  an' 
he  told  Granny  it  was  just  like  a  girl  talking — an' 
Granny  told  me  ! 

"Soak  a  Horse-hair  in  rainwater  and  it  will  turn 
into  a  Snake.  Ain't  there  lots  uv  Snakes  around 
ponds  where  Horses  drink  ?  Well ! 

"Kill  a  Spider  an'  it  will  rain  to-morrow.     Now, 

72 


Biddy's  Contribution 

that's  worth  knowin'.  I  mind  one  year  when  the 
Orangeman's  picnic  was  comin',  i2th  of  July,  Maw 
made  us  catch  twenty  Spiders  and  we  killed  them 
all  the  day  before,  and  law,  how  it  did  rain  on  the 
picnic !  Mebbe  we  didn't  laugh.  Most  of  them 
hed  to  go  home  in  boats,  that's  what  our  paper  said. 
But  next  year  they  done  the  same  thing  on  us  for 
St.  Patrick's  Day,  but  Spiders  is  scarce  on  the  i6th 
of  March,  an'  it  didn't  rain  so  much  as  snow,  so  it 
was  about  a  stand-off. 

"Toads  gives  warts.  You  seen  them  McKenna 
twins — their  hands  is  a  sight  with  warts.  Well,  I 
seen  them  two  boys  playing  with  Toads  like  they 
was  marbles.  So  !  An'  they  might  a-knowed  wrhat 
was  comin'.  Ain't  every  Toad  just  covered  with 
warts  as  thick  as  he  can  stick  ? 

"That  there's  Injun  tobacco.  The  Injuns  always 
use  it,  and  Granny  does,  too,  sometimes."  (Yan 
made  special  note  of  this — he  must  get  some  and 
smoke  it,  if  it  was  Indian.) 

"A  Witch-hazel  wand  will  bob  over  a  hidden 
spring  and  show  where  to  dig.  Denny  Scully  is 
awful  good  at  it.  He  gets  a  dollar  for  showing  where 
to  sink  a  well,  an'  if  they  don't  strike  water  it's 
because  they  didn't  dig  where  he  said,  or  spiled  the 
charm  some  way  or  nuther,  and  hez  to  try  over. 

"Now,  that's  Dandelion.  Its  roots  makes  awful 
good  coffee.  Granny  allers  uses  it.  She  says  that 
it  is  healthier  than  store  coffee,  but  Maw  says  she 
likes  boughten  things  best,  and  the  more  they  cost 
the  better  she  likes  them. 

73 


,<*--; 


Two  Little  Savages 

"Now,  that's  Ginseng.  It  has  a  terrible  pretty 
flower  in  spring.  There's  tons  and  tons  of  it  sent 
to  China.  Granny  says  the  Chinese  eats  it,  to 
make  them  cheerful,  but  they  don't  seem  to  eat 
enough. 

"There's  Slippery  Elm.  It's  awfully  good  for 
loosening  up  a  cold,  if  you  drink  the  juice  the  bark's 
bin  biled  in.  One  spring  Granny  made  a  bucketful. 
She  set  it  outside  to  cool,  an'  the  pig  he  drunk  it  all 
up,  an'  he  must  a  had  a  cold,  for  it  loosened  him  up 
so  he  dropped  his  back  teeth.  I  seen  them  myself 
lying  out  there  in  the  yard.  Yes,  I  did. 

"That's  Wintergreen.  Lots  of  boys  I  know  chew 
that  to  make  the  girls  like  them.  Lots  of  them  gits 
a  beau  that  way,  too.  I  done  it  myself  many's  a  time. 

"Now,  that  is  what  some  folks  calls  Injun 
Turnip,  an'  the  children  calls  it  Jack-in-a-Pulpit, 
but  Granny  calls  it  'Sorry -plant,'  cos  she  says  when 
any  one  eats  it  it  makes  them  feel  sorry  for  the  last 
fool  thing  they  done.  I'll  put  some  in  your  Paw's 
coffee  next  time  he  licks  yer  and  mebbe  that'll  make 
him  quit.  It  just  makes  me  sick  to  see  ye  gettin' 
licked  fur  every  little  thing  ye  can't  help. 

"A  Snake's  tongue  is  its  sting.  You  put  your  foot 
on  a  Snake  and  see  how  he  tries  to  sting  you.  An' 
his  tail  don't  die  till  sundown.  I  seen  that  myself, 
onct,  an'  Granny  says  so,  too,  an'  what  Granny  don't 
know  ain't  knowledge — it's  only  book-larnin'." 

These  were  her  superstitions,  most  of  them  more 
or  less  obviously  absurd  to  Yan;  but  she  had  also 

74 


Biddy's  Contribution 

a  smattering  of  backwoods  lore  and  Yan  gleaned  all 
he  could. 

She  had  so  much  of  what  he  wanted  to  know  that 
he  had  almost  made  up  his  mind  to  tell  her  where 
he  went  each  Saturday  when  he  had  finished  his 
work. 

A  week  or  two  longer  and  she  would  have  shared 
the  great  secret,  but  something  took  place  to  end 
their  comradeship. 


75 


XI 

Lung  Balm 

ONE  day  as  this  girl  went  with  him  through  a 
little  grove  on  the  edge  of  the  town,  she 
stopped  at  a  certain  tree  and  said: 

"If  that  ain't  Black-cherry!" 

"You  mean  Choke-cherry." 

"  No,  Black-cherry.  Choke-cherry  ain't  no  good; 
but  Black-cherry  bark's  awful  good  for  lung  com 
plaint.  Grandma  always  keeps  it.  I've  been  feeling 
a  bit  queer  meself"  [she  was  really  as  strong  as  an 
ox].  "Guess  I'll  git  some."  So  she  and  Yan  planned 
an  expedition  together.  The  boldness  of  it  scared 
the  boy.  The  girl  helped  herself  to  a  hatchet  in  the 
tool  box — the  sacred  tool  box  of  his  father. 

Yan's  mother  saw  her  with  it  and  demanded  why 
she  had  it.  With  ready  effrontery  she  said  it  was 
to  hammer  in  the  hook  that  held  the  clothesline,  and 
proceeded  to  carry  out  the  lie  with  a  smiling  face. 
That  gave  Yan  a  new  lesson  and  not  a  good  one. 
The  hatchet  was  at  once  put  back  in  the  box,  to  be 
stolen  more  carefully  later  on. 

Biddy  announced  that  she  was  going  to  the  grocery 
shop.  She  met  Yan  around  the  corner  and  they  made 
for  the  lot.  Utterly  regardless  of  property  rights, 

76 


Lung  Balm 

she  showed  Yan  how  to  chip  off  the  bark  of  the 
Black-cherry.  "Don't  chip  off  all  around;  that's 
bad  luck — take  it  on'y  from  the  sunny  side."  She 
filled  a  basket  with  the  pieces  and  they  returned 
home. 

Here  she  filled  a  jar  with  bits  of  the  inner  layer, 
then,  pouring  water  over  it,  let  it  stand  for  a  week. 
The  water  was  then  changed  to  a  dark  brown  stuff 
with  a  bitter  taste  and  a  sweet,  aromatic  smell. 
Biddy  added  whisky  and  some  sugar  to  this  and 
labelled  it  Lung  Balm. 

"It's  terrible  good,"  she  said.  "Granny  always 
keeps  it  handy.  It  cures  lots  of  people.  Now 
there  was  Bud  Ellis — the  doctors  just  guv  him  up. 
They  said  he  didn't  have  a  single  lung  left,  and  he 
come  around  to  Granny.  He  used  to  make  fun  of 
Granny;  but  now  he  wuz  plumb  scairt.  At  first 
Granny  chased  him  away;  then  when  she  seen  that 
he  was  awful  sick,  she  got  sorry  and  told  him  how 
to  make  Lung  Balm.  He  was  to  make  two  gallons 
each  time  and  bring  it  to  her.  Then  she  took  and 
fixed  it  so  it  was  one-half  as  much  and  give  it 
back  to  him.  Well,  in  six  months  if  he  wasn't  all 
right." 

Biddy  now  complained  nightly  of  "feelin's"  in  her 
chest.  These  feelings  could  be  controlled  only  by 
a  glass  or  two  of  Lung  Balm.  Her  condition  must 
have  been  critical,  for  one  night  after  several  necessary 
doses  of  Balm  her  head  seemed  affected.  She 
became  abusive  to  the  lady  of  the  house  and  at  the 

77 


Two  Little  Savages 


end  of  the  month  a  less  interesting  help  was  in  her 
place. 

There  were  many  lessons  good  and  bad  that  Yan 
might  have  drawn  from  this;  but  the  only  one  that 
he  took  in  was  that  the  Black-cherry  bark  is  a  wonder 
ful  remedy.  The  family  doctor  said  that  it  really 
was  so,  and  Yan  treasured  up  this  as  a  new  and 
precious  fragment  of  woodcraft. 

Having  once  identified  the  tree,  he  was  surprised 
to  see  that  it  was  rather  common,  and  was  delighted 
to  find  it  flourishing  in  his  own  Glenyan. 

This  made  him  set  down  on  paper  all  the  trees  he 
knew,  and  he  was  surprised  to  find  how  few  they  were 
and  how  uncertain  he  was  about  them. 

Maple — hard  and  soft. 

Beach. 

Elm — swamp  and  slippery. 

Ironwood. 

Birch — white  and  black. 

Ash — white  and  black. 

Pine. 

Cedar. 

Balsam. 

Hemlock  and  Cherry. 

He  had  heard  that  the  Indians  knew  the  name 
and  properties  of  every  tree  and  plant  in  the  woods, 
and  that  was  what  he  wished  to  be  able  to  say  of 
himself. 

One  day  by  the  bank  of  the  river  he  noticed  a  pile 
of  empty  shells  of  the  fresh-water  Mussel,  cr  Clam. 


Kfref, 


Lung  Balm 

The  shells  were  common  enough,  but  why  all 
together  and  marked  in  the  same  way?  Around 
the  pile  on  the  mud  were  curious  tracks  and 
marks.  There  were  so  many  that  it  was  hard  to 
find  a  perfect  one,  but  when  he  did,  remembering 
the  Coon  track,  he  drew  a  picture  of  it.  It  was 
too  small  to  be  the  mark  of  his  old  acquaintance. 
He  did  not  find  any  one  to  tell  him  what  it  was, 
but  one  day  he  saw  a  round,  brown  animal  hunched 
up  on  the  bank  eating  a  clam.  It  dived  into  the 
water  at  his  approach,  but  it  reappeared  swimming 
farther  on.  Then,  when  it  dived  again,  Yan  saw 
by  its  long  thin  tail  that  it  was  a  Muskrat,  like 
the  stuffed  one  he  had  seen  in  the  taxidermist's 
window 

He  soon  learned  that  the  more  he  studied  those 
tracks  the  more  different  kinds  he  found.  Many 
were  rather  mysterious,  so  he  could  only  draw  them 
and  put  them  aside,  hoping  some  day  for  light.  One 
of  the  strangest  and  most  puzzling  turned  out 
to  be  the  trail  of  a  Snapper,  and  another  proved 
to  be  merely  the  track  of  a  Common  Crow  that  came 
to  the  water's  edge  to  drink. 

The  curios  that  he  gathered  and  stored  in  his 
shanty  increased  in  number  and  in  interest.  The 
place  became  more  and  more  part  of  himself.  Its 
concealment  bettered  as  the  foliage  grew  around  it 
again,  and  he  gloried  in  its  wild  seclusion  and  mystery, 
and  wandered  through  the  woods  with  his  bow  and 
arrows,  aiming  harmless,  deadly  blows  at  snickering 


f     1 


'Mi 


79 


2 


c» 
7* 


Two  Little  Savages 

Red-squirrels — though  doubtless  he  would  have  been 
as  sorry  as  they  had  he  really  hit  one. 

Yan  soon  found  out  that  he  was  not  the  only 
resident  of  the  shanty.  One  day  as  he  sat  inside 
wondering  why  he  had  not  made  a  fireplace,  so  that 
he  could  sit  at  an  indoor  fire,  he  saw  a  silent  little 
creature  flit  along  between  two  logs  in  the  back 
wall.  He  remained  still.  A  beautiful  little  Wood- 
mouse,  for  such  it  was,  soon  came  out  in  plain  view 
and  sat  up  to  look  at  Yan  and  wash  its  face.  Yan 
reached  out  for  his  bow  and  arrow,  but  the  Mouse 
was  gone  in  a  flash.  He  fitted  a  blunt  arrow  to  the 
string,  then  waited,  and  when  the  Mouse  returned 
he  shot  the  arrow.  It  missed  the  Mouse,  struck  the 
log  and  bounded  back  into  Yan's  face,  giving  him  a 
stinging  blow  on  the  cheek.  And  as  Yan  rolled 
around  grunting  and  rubbing  his  cheek,  he  thought, 
"This  is  what  I  tried  to  do  to  the  Woodmouse." 
Thenceforth,  Yan  made  no  attempt  to  harm  the 
Mouse;  indeed,  he  was  willing  to  share  his  meals  with 
it.  In  time  they  became  well  acquainted,  and  Yan 
found  that  not  one,  but  a  whole  family,  were  sharing 
with  him  his  shanty  in  the  woods. 

Biddy's  remark  about  the  Indian  tobacco  bore  fruit. 
Yan  was  not  a  smoker,  but  now  he  felt  he  must 
learn.  He  gathered  a  lot  of  this  tobacco,  put  it  to 
dry,  and  set  about  making  a  pipe — a  real  Indian  peace 
pipe.  He  had  no  red  sandstone  to  make  it  of,  but 
a  soft  red  brick  did  very  well.  He  first  roughed  out 
the  general  shape  with  his  knife,  and  was  trying  to  bore 


Lung  Balm 

the  bowl  out  with  the  same  tool,  when  he  remem 
bered  that  in  one  of  the  school-readers  was  an  account 
of  the  Indian  method  of  drilling  into  stone  with  a 
bow-drill  and  wet  sand.  One  of  his  schoolmates, 
the  son  of  a  woodworker,  had  seen  his  father  use  a 
bow-drill.  This  knowledge  gave  him  new  importance 
in  Yan's  eyes.  Under  his  guidance  a  bow-drill  was 
made,  and  used  much  and  on  many  things  till  it  was 
understood,  and  now  it  did  real  Indian  service  by 
drilling  the  bowl  and  stem  holes  of  the  pipe. 

He  made  a  stem  of  an  Elderberry  shoot,  punching 
out  the  pith  at  home  with  a  long  knitting-needle. 
Some  white  pigeon  wing  feathers  trimmed  small, 
and  each  tipped  with  a  bit  of  pitch,  were  strung 
on  a  stout  thread  and  fastened  to  the  stem  for  a 
finishing  touch;  and  he  would  sit  by  his  campfire 
solemnly  smoking — a  few  draws  only,  for  he  did  not 
like  it — then  say,  "Ugh,  heap  hungry,"  knock  the 
ashes  out,  and  proceed  with  whatever  work  he  had 
on  hand. 

Thus  he  spent  the  bright  Saturdays,  hiding  his 
accouterments  each  day  in  his  shanty,  washing  the 
paint  from  his  face  in  the  brook,  and  replacing  the 
hated  paper  collar  that  the  pride  and  poverty  of  his 
family  made  a  daily  necessity,  before  returning 
home.  He  was  a  little  dreamer,  but  oh !  what  happy 
dreams.  Whatever  childish  sorrow  he  found  at 
home  he  knew  he  could  always  come  out  here  and 
forget  and  be  happy  as  a  king — be  a  real  King  in  a 
Kingdom  wholly  after  his  heart,  and  all  his  very  own. 

81 


XII 
A  Crisis 

AT  school  he  was  a  model  boy  except  in  one 
respect — he  had  strange,  uncertain  outbreaks 
of  disrespect  for  his  teachers.  One  day  he 
amused  himself  by  covering  the  blackboard  with 
ridiculous  caricatures  of  the  principal,  whose  favourite 
he  undoubtedly  was.  They  were  rather  clever  and 
proportionately  galling.  The  principal  set  about  an 
elaborate  plan  to  discover  who  had  done  them.  He 
assembled  the  whole  school  and  began  cross-examining 
one  wretched  dunce,  thinking  him  the  culprit.  The 
lad  denied  it  in  a  confused  and  guilty  way ;  the  princi 
pal  was  convinced  of  his  guilt,  and  reached  for  his 
rawhide,  while  the  condemned  set  up  a  howl.  To 
the  surprise  of  the  assembly,  Yan  now  spoke  up, 
and  in  a  tone  of  weary  impatience  said: 

"Oh,  let  him  alone.     I  did  it." 

His  manner  and  the  circumstances  were  such  that 
every  one  laughed.  The  principal  was  nettled  to 
fury.  He  forgot  his  manhood;  he  seized  Yan  by  the 
collar.  He  was  considered  a  timid  boy;  his  face  was 
white;  his  lips  set.  The  principal  beat  him  with  the 
rawhide  till  the  school  cried  "Shame,"  but  he  got  no 
cry  from  Yan. 

82 


A  Crisis 

That  night,  on  undressing  for  bed,  his  brother  Rad 
saw  the  long  black  wales  from  head  to  foot,  and  an 
explanation  was  necessary.  He  was  incapable  of 
lying;  his  parents  learned  of  his  wickedness,  and  new 
and  harsh  punishments  were  added.  Next  day  was 
Saturday.  He  cut  his  usual  double  or  Saturday's 
share  of  wood  for  the  house,  and,  bruised  and  smarting, 
set  out  for  the  one  happy  spot  he  knew.  The 
shadow  lifted  from  his  spirit  as  he  drew  near.  He 
was  already  forming  a  plan  for  adding  a  fireplace  and 
chimney  to  his  house.  He  followed  the  secret  path 
he  had  made  with  aim  to  magnify  its  secrets.  He 
crossed  the  open  glade,  was  nearly  at  the  shanty, 
when  he  heard  voices — loud,  coarse  voices — coming 
from  his  shanty.  He  crawled  up  close.  The  door 
was  open.  There  in  his  dear  cabin  were  three  tramps 
playing  cards  and  drinking  out  of  a  bottle.  On  the 
ground  beside  them  were  his  shell  necklaces  broken 
up  to  furnish  poker  chips.  In  a  smouldering  fire 
outside  were  the  remains  of  his  bow  and  arrows. 

Poor  Yan !  His  determination  to  be  like  an 
Indian  under  torture  had  sustained  him  in  the 
teacher's  cruel  beating  and  in  his  home  punishments, 
but  this  was  too  much.  He  fled  to  a  far  and  quiet 
corner  and  there  flung  himself  down  and  sobbed  in 
grief  and  rage — he  would  have  killed  them  if  he 
could.  After  an  hour  or  two  he  came  trembling 
back  to  see  the  tramps  finish  their  game  and  their 
liquor;  then  they  defiled  the  shanty  and  left  it  in 
ruins. 

83 


Two  Little  Savages 

The  brightest  thing  in  his  life  was  gone — a  King 
discrowned,  dethroned.  Feeling  now  every  wale  on 
his  back  and  legs,  he  sullenly  went  home. 

This  was  late  in  the  summer.  Autumn  followed 
fast,  with  shortening  days  and  chilly  winds.  Yan 
had  no  chance  to  see  his  glen,  even  had  he  greatly 
wished  it.  He  became  more  studious;  books  were  his 
pleasure  now.  He  worked  harder  than  ever,  winning 
honour  at  school,  but  attracting  no  notice  at  the 
home,  where  piety  reigned. 

The  teachers  and  some  of  the  boys  remarked  that 
Yan  was  getting  very  thin  and  pale.  Never  very 
robust,  he  now  looked  like  an  invalid;  but  at  home 
no  note  was  taken  of  the  change.  His  mother's 
thoughts  were  all  concentrated  on  his  scapegrace 
younger  brother.  For  two  years  she  had  rarely  spoken 
to  Yan  peaceably.  There  was  a  hungry  place  in  his 
heart  as  he  left  the  house  unnoticed  each  morning 
and  saw  his  graceless  brother  kissed  and  darlinged. 
At  school  their  positions  were  reversed.  Yan  was 
the  principal's  pride.  He  had  drawn  no  more 
caricatures,  and  the  teacher  flattered  himself  that 
that  beating  was  what  had  saved  the  pale-faced 
head  boy. 

He  grew  thinner  and  heart-hungrier  till  near 
Christmas,  when  the  breakdown  came. 


"He  is  far  gone  in  consumption,"   said  the  phy 
sician.     "He  cannot  live  over  a  month  or  two." 


A  Crisis 

"He  must  live,"  sobbed  the  conscience-stricken 
mother.  "He  must  live — O  God,  he  must  live." 

All  that  suddenly  awakened  mother's  love  could 
do  was  done.  The  skilful  physician  did  his  best, 
but  it  was  the  mother  that  saved  him.  She  watched 
over  him  night  and  day;  she  studied  his  wishes  and 
comfort  in  every  way.  She  prayed  by  his  bedside, 
and  often  asked  God  to  forgive  her  for  her  long 
neglect.  It  was  Yan's  first  taste  of  mother-love. 
Why  she  had  ignored  him  so  long  was  unknown. 
She  was  simply  erratic,  but  now  she  awoke  to  his 
brilliant  gifts,  his  steady,  earnest  life,  already  pur 
poseful. 


XIII 
The  Lynx 

AS  winter  waned,  Yan's  strength  returned.  He 
was  wise  enough  to  use  his  new  ascendency 
to  get  books.  The  public  librarian,  a  man 
of  broad  culture  who  had  fought  his  own  fight, 
became  interested  in  him,  and  helped  him  to  many 
works  that  otherwise  he  would  have  missed. 

"Wilson's  Ornithology"  and  "  Schoolcraft's 
Indians"  were  the  most  important.  And  they  were 
sparkling  streams  in  the  thirst-parched  land. 

In  March  he  was  fast  recovering.  He  could  now 
take  long  walks;  and  one  bright  day  of  snow  he  set 
off  with  his  brother's  Dog.  His  steps  bent  hillward. 
The  air  was  bright  and  bracing,  he  stepped  with 
unexpected  vigour,  and  he  made  for  far  Glenyan, 
without  at  first  meaning  to  go  there.  But,  drawn 
by  the  ancient  attraction,  he  kept  on.  The  secret 
path  looked  not  so  secret,  now  the  leaves  were  off; 
but  the  Glen  looked  dearly  familiar  as  he  reached  the 
wider  stretch. 

His  eye  fell  on  a  large,  peculiar  track  quite  fresh 
in  the  snow.  It  was  five  inches  across,  big  enough 
for  a  Bear  track,  but  there  were  no  signs  of  claws 
or  toe  pads.  The  steps  were  short  and  the  tracks 

88 


The  Lynx 

had  not  sunken  as  they  would  for  an  animal  as 
heavy  as  a  Bear. 

As  one  end  of  each  showed  the  indications  of  toes, 
he  could  see  what  way  it  went,  and  followed  up  the 
Glen.  The  dog  sniffed  at  it  uneasily,  but  showed 
no  disposition  to  go  ahead.  Yan  tramped  up  past 
the  ruins  of  his  shanty,  now  painfully  visible  since 
the  leaves  had  fallen,  and  his  heart  ached  at  the 
sight.  The  trail  led  up  the  valley,  and  crossed  the 
brook  on  a  log,  and  Yan  became  convinced  that  he 
was  on  the  track  of  a  large  Lynx.  Though  a  splendid 
barker,  Grip,  the  dog,  was  known  to  be  a  coward, 
and  now  he  slunk  behind  the  boy,  sniffing  at  the 
great  track  and  absolutely  refusing  to  go  ahead. 

Yan  was  fascinated  by  the  long  rows  of  foot 
prints,  and  when  he  came  to  a  place  where  the  creature 
had  leaped  ten  or  twelve  feet  without  visible  cause, 
he  felt  satisfied  that  he  had  found  a  Lynx,  and  the 
love  of  adventure  prompted  him  to  go  on,  although 
he  had  not  even  a  stick  in  his  hand  or  a  knife  in  his 
pocket.  He  picked  up  the  best  club  he  could  find — 
a  dry  branch  two  feet  long  and  two  inches  through, 
and  followed.  The  dog  was  now  unwilling  to  go 
at  all;  he  hung  back,  and  had  to  be  called  at  each 
hundred  yards. 

They  were  at  last  in  the  dense  Hemlock  woods  at 
the  upper  end  of  the  valley,  when  a  peculiar  sound  like 
the  call  of  a  deep-voiced  cat  was  heard. 

Yaw!  Yowl  Yowl! 

Yan  stood  still.      The  dog,  although  a  large  and 


Two  Little  Savages 

powerful  retriever,  whimpered,  trembled  and  crawled 
up  close. 

The  sound  increased  in  volume.  The  yowling 
meouw  came  louder,  louder  and  nearer,  then  suddenly 
clear  and  close,  as  though  the  creature  had  rounded 
a  point  and  entered  an  opening.  It  was  positively 
blood-curdling  now.  The  dog  could  stand  it  no  more ; 
he  turned  and  went  as  fast  as  he  could  for  home, 
leaving  Yan  to  his  fate.  There  was  no  longer  any 
question  that  it  was  a  Lynx.  Yan  had  felt  nervous 
before  and  the  abject  flight  of  the  dog  reacted  on 
him.  He  realized  how  defenseless  he  was,  still  weak 
from  his  illness,  and  he  turned  and  went  after  the 
dog.  At  first  he  walked.  But  having  given  in  to 
his  fears,  they  increased;  and  as  the  yowling  contin 
ued  he  finally  ran  his  fastest.  The  sounds  were  left 
behind,  but  Yan  never  stopped  until  he  had  left  the 
Glen  and  was  once  more  in  the  open  valley  of  the 
river.  Here  he  found  the  valiant  retriever  trembling 
all  over.  Yan  received  him  with  a  contemptuous 
kick,  and,  boylike,  as  soon  as  he  could  find  some 
stones,  he  used  them  till  Grip  was  driven  home. 

Most  lads  have  some  sporting  instinct,  and  his 
elder  brother,  though  not  of  Yan's  tastes,  was  not 
averse  to  going  gunning  when  there  was  a  prospect 
of  sport. 

Yan  decided  to  reveal  to  Rad  the  secret  of  his 
glen.  He  had  never  been  allowed  to  use  a  gun, 
but  Rad  had  one,  and  Yan's  vivid  account  of  his 

90 


It  surely  was  a  Lynx  " 


The  Lynx 

adventure  had  the  desired  effect.  His  method  was 
characteristic. 

"Rad,  would  you  go  huntin'  if  there  was  lots  to 
hunt?" 

"Course  I  would." 

"Well,  I  know  a  place  not  ten  miles  away  where 
there  are  all  kinds  of  wild  animals — hundreds  of 
them." 

"Yes,  you  do,  I  don't  think.     Humph  !" 

"Yes,  I  do;  and  I'll  tell  you,  if  you  will  promise 
never  to  tell  a  soul." 

"Ba-ah!" 

"Well,  I  just  had  an  adventure  with  a  Lynx  up 
there  now,  and  if  you  wrill  come  with  your  gun  wre 
can  get  him." 

Then  Yan  related  all  that  had  passed,  and  it  lost 
nothing  in  his  telling.  His  brother  was  impressed 
enough  to  set  out  under  Yan's  guidance  on  the 
following  Saturday. 

Yan  hated  to  reveal  to  his  sneering,  earthy-minded 
brother  all  the  joys  and  sorrows  he  had  found  in 
the  Glen,  but  now  that  it  seemed  compulsory  he  found 
keen  pleasure  in  playing  the  part  of  the  crafty  guide. 
With  unnecessary  caution  he  first  led  in  a  wrong 
direction,  then  trying,  but  failing,  to  extort  another 
promise  of  secrecy,  he  turned  at  an  angle,  pointed 
to  a  distant  tree,  saying  with  all  the  meaning  he  could 
put  into  it:  "Ten  paces  beyond  that  tree  is  a  trail 
that  shall  lead  us  into  the  secret  valley."  After 
sundry  other  ceremonies  of  the  sort,  they  were  near 

93 


Two  Little  Savages 

the  inway,  when  a  man  came  walking  through  the 
bushes.  On  his  shoulders  he  carried  something. 
When  he  came  close,  Yan  saw  to  his  deep  disgust 
that  that  something  was  the  Lynx — yes,  it  surely 
was  his  Lynx. 

They  eagerly  plied  the  man  with  questions.  He 
told  them  that  he  had  killed  it  the  day  before,  really. 
It  had  been  prowling  for  the  last  week  or  more  about 
Kernore's  bush;  probably  it  was  a  straggler  from  up 
north. 

This  was  all  intensely  fascinating  to  Yan,  but  in  it 
was  a  jarring  note.  Evidently  this  man  considered 
the  Glen — his  Glen — as  an  ordinary,  well-known  bit 
of  bush,  possibly  part  of  his  farm — not  by  any  means 
the  profound  mystery  that  Yan  would  have  had  it. 

The  Lynx  was  a  fine  large  one.  The  stripes  on  its 
face  and  the  wide  open  yellow  eyes  gave  a  peculiarly 
wild,  tiger-like  expression  that  was  deeply  gratifying 
to  Yan's  romantic  soul. 

It  was  not  so  much  of  an  adventure  as  a  might- 
have-been  adventure;  but  it  left  a  deep  impress  on 
the  boy,  and  it  also  illustrated  the  accuracy  of  his 
instincts  in  identifying  creatures  that  he  had  never 
before  seen,  but  knew  only  through  the  slight  descrip 
tions  of  very  unsatisfactory  books. 


94 


XIV 
Froth 

FROM  now  on  to  the  spring  Yan  was  daily  gaining 
in  strength,  and  he  and  his  mother  came  closer 
together.  She  tried  to  take  an  interest  in  the 
pursuits  that  were  his  whole  nature.  But  she  also 
strove  hard  to  make  him  take  an  interest  in  her 
world.  She  was  a  morbidly  religious  woman.  Her 
conversation  was  bristling  with  Scripture  texts. 
She  had  a  vast  store  of  them — indeed,  she  had  them 
all ;  and  she  used  them  on  every  occasion  possible  and 
impossible,  with  bewildering  efficiency. 

If  ever  she  saw  a  group  of  young  people  dancing, 
romping,  playing  any  game,  or  even  laughing  heartily, 
she  would  interrupt  them  to  say,  "Children,  are  you 
sure  you  can  ask  God's  blessing  on  all  this  ?  Do  you 
think  that  beings  with  immortal  souls  to  save  should 
give  rein  to  such  frivolity !  I  fear  you  are  sinning, 
and  be  sure  your  sin  will  find  you  out.  Remember, 
that  for  every  idle  word  and  deed  we  must  give  an 
account  to  the  Great  Judge  of  Heaven  and  earth." 

She  was  perfectly  sincere  in  all  this,  but  she  never 
ceased,  except  during  the  time  of  her  son's  illness, 
when,  under  orders  from  the  doctor,  she  avoided  the 
painful  topic  of  eternal  happiness  and  tried  to  simu- 

95 


Two  Little  Savages 

late  an  interest  in  his  pursuits.  This  was  the  blessed 
truce  that  brought  them  together. 

He  found  a  confidante  for  the  first  time  since  he 
met  the  collarless  stranger,  and  used  to  tell  all  his 
loves  and  fears  among  the  woodfolk  and  things. 
He  would  talk  about  this  or  that  bird  or  flower,  and 
hoped  to  find  out  its  name,  till  the  mother  would 
suddenly  feel  shocked  that  any  being  with  an  immor 
tal  soul  to  save  could  talk  so  seriously  about  anything 
outside  of  the  Bible ;  then  gently  reprove  her  son  and 
herself,  too,  with  a  number  of  texts. 

He  might  reply  with  others,  for  he  was  well 
equipped.  But  her  unanswerable  answer  would  be: 
"There  is  but  one  thing  needful.  What  profiteth  it  a 
man  if  he  gain  the  whole  world  and  lose  his  own  soul  ?" 

These  fencing  bouts  grew  more  frequent  as  Yan 
grew  stronger  and  the  doctor's  inhibition  was  re 
moved. 

After  one  of  unusual  warmth,  Yan  realized  with  a 
chill  that  all  her  interest  in  his  pursuits  had  been 
an  affected  one.  He  was  silent  a  long  time,  then 
said:  "Mother!  you  like  to  talk  about  your  Bible. 
It  tells  you  the  things  that  you  long  to  know,  that 
you  love  to  learn.  You  would  be  unhappy  if  you 
went  a  day  without  reading  a  chapter  or  two.  That 
is  your  nature;  God  made  you  so. 

"I  have  been  obliged  to  read  the  Bible  all  my 
life.  Every  day  I  read  a  chapter;  but  I  do  not 
love  it.  I  read  it  because  I  am  forced  to  do  it. 
It  tells  me  nothing  I  want  to  know.  It  does  not 

96 


Froth 


teach  me  to  love  God,  which  you  say  is  the  one  thing 
needful.  But  I  go  out  into  the  woods,  and  every 
bird  and  flower  I  see  stirs  me  to  the  heart  with  some 
thing,  I  -do  not  know  what  it  is;  only  I  love  them: 
I  love  them  with  all  my  strength,  and  they  make  me 
feel  like  praying  when  your  Bible  does  not.  They 
are  my  Bible.  This  is  my  nature.  God  made  me 
so." 

The  mother  was  silent  after  this,  but  Yan  could 
see  that  she  was  praying  for  him  as  for  a  lost  soul. 

A  few  days  later  they  were  out  walking  in  the  early 
spring  morning.  A  Shore-lark  on  a  clod  whistled 
prettily  as  it  felt  the  growing  sunshine. 

Yan  strained  his  eyes  and  attention  to  take  it  in. 
He  crept  up  near  it.  It  took  wing,  and  as  it  went 
he  threw  after  it  a  short  stick  he  was  carrying.  The 
stick  whirled  over  and  struck  the  bird.  It  fell 
fluttering.  Yan  rushed  wildly  after  it  and  caught 
it  in  spite  of  his  mother's  calling  him  back. 

He  came  with  the  bird  in  his  hand,  but  it  did  not 
live  many  minutes.  His  mother  was  grieved  and 
disgusted.  She  said:  "So  this  is  the  great  love 
you  have  for  the  wild  things;  the  very  first  spring 
bird  to  sing  you  must  club  to  death.  I  do  not 
understand  your  affections.  Are  not  two  sparrows 
sold  for  one  farthing,  and  yet  not  one  of  them  falls 
to  the  ground  without  the  knowledge  of  your 
heavenly  Father." 

Yan  was  crushed.  He  held  the  dead  bird  in  his 
hand  and  said,  contradictorily,  as  the  tears  stood 


97 


Two  Little  Savages 

in  his  eyes,  "I  wish  I  hadn't;  but  oh,  it  was  so 
beautiful." 

He  could  not  explain,  because  he  did  not  under 
stand,  and  yet  was  no  hypocrite. 

Weeks  later  a  cheap  trip  gave  him  the  chance  for 
the  first  time  in  his  life  to  see  Niagara.  As  he  stood 
with  his  mother  watching  the  racing  flood,  in  the 
gorge  below  the  cataract,  he  noticed  straws,  bubbles 
and  froth,  that  seemed  to  be  actually  moving  up 
stream.  He  said: 

"Mother,  you  see  the  froth  how  it  seems  to  go 
up-stream." 

"Well!" 

"Yet  we  know  it  is  a  trifle  and  means  nothing. 
We  know  that  just  below  the  froth  is  the  deep, 
wide,  terrible,  irresistible,  arrowy  flood,  surging  all 
the  other  way." 

"Yes,  my  son." 

"Well,  Mother,  when  I  killed  the  Shore-lark,  that 
was  froth  going  the  wrong  way.  I  did  love  the 
little  bird.  I  know  now  why  I  killed  it.  Because 
it  was  going  away  from  me.  If  I  could  have  seen  it 
near  and  could  have  touched  it,  or  even  have  heard 
it  every  day,  I  should  never  have  wished  to  harm 
it.  I  didn't  mean  to  kill  it,  only  to  get  it.  You 
gather  flowers  because  you  love  to  keep  them  near 
you,  not  because  you  want  to  destroy  them.  They 
die  and  you  are  sorry.  I  only  tried,  to  gather  the 
Shore-lark  as  you  would  a  flower.  It  died,  and  I 
was  very,  very  sorry." 

98 


Froth 

"Nevertheless,"  the  mother  replied,  "the  merciful 
man  is  merciful  unto  his  beast.  He  who  hearkens 
when  the  young  Ravens  cry,  surely  took  note  of  it, 
and  in  His  great  Book  of  Remembrance  it  is  written 
down  against  you." 

And  from  that  time  they  surely  drifted  apart. 


\i\\ 

'  /    • '' 
1.  «  i 


99 


PART  II. 
SANGER  V  SAM 


I 


The  New  Home 

AN  was  now  fourteen  years  old, 
long-legged,  thin,  and  growing  fast. 
The  doctor  marked  this  combi 
nation  and  said:  "Send  him  on  a 
farm  for  a  year." 

Thus  it  was  that  an  arrange 
ment  was  made  for  Yan  to  work 
for  his  board  at  the  farmhouse  of 
William  Raft  en  of  Sanger. 

Sanger  was  a  settlement  just  emerging  from  the 
early  or  backwoods  period. 

The  recognized  steps  are,  first,  the  frontier  or 
woods  where  all  is  unbroken  forest  and  Deer  abound ; 
next  the  backwoods  where  small  clearings  appear; 
then  a  settlement  where  the  forest  and  clearings 
are  about  equal  and  the  Deer  gone;  last  an  agricul 
tural  district,  with  mere  shreds  of  forest  remaining. 

Thirty  years  before,  Sanger  had  been  "taken  up" 
by  a  population  chiefly  from  Ireland,  sturdy  peasantry 
for  the  most  part,  who  brought  with  them  the  ancient 
feud  that  has  so  long  divided  Ireland — the  bitter 
quarrel  between  the  Catholics  or  "Dogans"  (why 
so  called  none  knew)  and  Protestants,  more  usually 
styled  "Prattisons."  The  colours  of  the  Catholics 
were  green  and  white;  of  the  Protestants  orange  and 


103 


Two  Little  Savages 

blue;  and  hence  another  distinctive  name  of  the 
latter  was  "  Orangemen." 

These  two  factions  split  the  social  structure  in 
two,  vertically.  There  were,  in  addition,  several 
horizontal  lines  of  cleavage  which,  like  geological 
seams,  ran  across  both  segments. 

In  those  days,  the  early  part  of  the  nineteenth 
century,  the  British  Government  used  to  assist 
desirable  persons  who  wished  to  emigrate  to  Canada 
from  Ireland.  This  aid  consisted  of  a  free  ocean 
passage.  Many  who  could  not  convince  the  Govern- 
ment  of  their  desirability  and  yet  could  raise  the 
money,  came  with  them,  paying  their  regular  steerage 
rate  of  $15.  These  were  alike  to  the  outside  world, 
but  not  to  themselves.  Those  who  paid  their  way 
were  "passengers,"  and  were,  in  their  own  opinion, 
many  social  worlds  above  the  assisted  ones,  who 
were  called  "Emmy  Grants."  This  distinction  was 
never  forgotten  among  the  residents  of  Sanger. 

Yet  two  other  social  grades  existed.  Every 
man  and  boy  in  Sanger  was  an  expert  with 
the  axe;  was  wonderfully  adroit.  The  familiar 
phrase,  "He's  a  good  man,"  had  two  accepted 
meanings:  If  obviously  applied  to  a  settler  during 
the  regular  Saturday  night  Irish  row  in  the  little 
town  of  Downey's  Dump,  it  meant  he  was  an  able 
man  with  his  fists;  but  if  to  his  home  life  on  the  farm, 
it  implied  that  he  was  unusually  dexterous  with  the 
axe.  A  man  who  fell  below  standard  was  despised. 
Since  the  houses  of  hewn  logs  were  made  by  their 


104 


The  New  Home  s~ 

owners,  they  reflected  the  axemen's  skill.  There 
were  two  styles  of  log  architecture;  the  shanty  with 
corners  criss-cross,  called  hog-pen  finish,  and  the 
other,  the  house  with  the  corners  neatly  finished,  called 
dovetail  finish.  In  Sanger  it  was  a  social  black  eye  to 
live  in  a  house  of  the  first  kind.  The  residents  were 
considered  "scrubs"  or  "riff-raff"  by  those  whose 
superior  axemanship  had  provided  the  more  neatly 
finished  dwelling.  A  later  division  crept  in  among 
the  "  dovetailers "  themselves  when  a  brickyard 
was  opened.  The  more  prosperous  settlers  put 
up  neat  little  brick  houses.  To  the  surprise  of 
all,  one  Phil  O'Leary,  a  poor  but  prolific  Dogan, 
leaped  at  once  from  a  hog-pen  log  to  a  fine  brick, 
and  caused  no  end  of  perplexity  to  the  ruling  society 
queens,  simply  paralyzing  the  social  register,  since 
his  nine  fat  daughters  now  had  claims  with  the  best. 
Many,  however,  whose  brick  houses  were  but  five 
years  old,  denounced  the  O'Learys  as  upstarts  and 
for  long  witheld  all  social  recognition.  William 
Raften,  as  the  most  prosperous  man  in  the  community, 
was  first  to  appear  in  red  bricks.  His  implacable 
enemy,  Char-less  (two  syllables)  Boyle,  egged  on  by 
his  wife,  now  also  took  the  red  brick  plunge,  though 
he  dispensed  with  masons  and  laid  the  bricks  himself, 
with  the  help  of  his  seventeen  sons.  These  two  men, 
though  Orangemen  both,  were  deadly  enemies,  as 
the  wives  were  social  rivals.  Raften  was  the  stronger 
and  richer  man,  but  Boyle,  whose  father  had  paid 
his  own  steerage  rate,  knew  all  about  Raften's 


Two  Little  Savages 

father,  and  always  wound  up  any  discussion  uy 
hurling  in  Raften's  teeth:  "Don't  talk  to  me,  ye 
,..M,..\  upstart.  Everybody  knows  ye  are  nothing  but  a 
Emmy  Grant."  This  was  the  one  fly  in  the  Raften 
ointment.  No  use  denying  it.  His  father  had  accepted 
a  ^ree  Passage>  true,  and  Boyle  had  received  a 
fr~ee  homestead,  but  what  of  that — that  counted 
for  nothing.  Old  Boyle  had  been  a  "PASSENGER," 
old  Raften  an  8ST"  EMMY  GRANT. '"Q®« 

This  was  the  new  community  that  Yan  had  entered, 
anc^  ^e  words  Dogan  and  Prattison,  "green"  and 
"  orange  and  blue,"  began  to  loom  large,  along  with 
the  ideas  and  animosities  they  stood  for. 

The  accent  of  the  Sangerite  was  mixed.  First, 
there  was  a  rich  Irish  brogue  with  many  Irish  words; 
this  belonged  chiefly  to  the  old  folks.  The  Irish  of 
such  men  as  Raften  was  quite  evident  in  their  speech, 
but  not  strong  enough  to  warrant  the  accepted  Irish 
spelling  of  books,  except  when  the  speaker  was 
greatly  excited.  The  young  generation  had  almost 
no  Irish  accent,  but  all  had  sifted  down  to  the 
peculiar  burring  nasal  whine  of  the  backwoods 
Canadian. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Raften  met  Yan  at  the  station.  They 
had  supper  together  at  the  tavern  and  drove  him 
to  their  home,  where  they  showed  him  into  the  big 
dining-room  —  living-room  —  kitchen.  Over  behind 
the  stove  was  a  tall,  awkward  boy  with  carroty  hair 
and  small,  dark  eyes  set  much  aslant  in  the  saddest 
of  faces.  Mrs.  Raften  said,  "Come,  Sam,  and  shake 

106 


The  New  Home 

hands  with  Yan."  Sam  came  sheepishly  forward, 
shook  hands  in  a  flabby  way,  and  said,  in  drawling 
tones,  "How-do,"  then  retired  behind  the  stove  to 
gaze  with  melancholy  soberness  at  Yan,  whenever  he 
could  do  so  without  being  caught  at  it.  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Raften  were  attending  to  various  matters  elsewhere, 
and  Yan  was  left  alone  and  miserable.  The  idea 
of  giving  up  college  to  go  on  a  farm  had  been  a  hard 
one  for  him  to  accept,  but  he  had  sullenly  bowed  to 
his  father's  command  and  then  at  length  learned  to 
like  the  prospect  of  getting  away  from  Bonnerton 
into  the  country.  After  all,  it  was  but  for  a  year,  and 
it  promised  so  much  of  joy.  Sunday-school  left 
behind.  Church  reduced  to  a  minimum.  All  his 
life  outdoors,  among  fields  and  woods — surely  this 
spelled  happiness;  but  now  that  he  was  really  there, 
the  abomination  of  desolation  seemed  sitting  on  all 
things  and  the  evening  was  one  of  unalloyed 
misery.  He  had  nothing  to  tell  of,  but  a  cloud  of 
black  despair  seemed  to  have  settled  for  good  on  the 
world.  His  mouth  was  pinching  very  hard  and  his 
eyes  blinking  to  keep  back  the  tears  when  Mrs.  Raften 
came  into  the  room.  She  saw  at  a  glance  what  was 
wrong.  "He's  homesick,"  she  said  to  her  husband. 
"He'll  be  all  right  to-morrow,"  and  she  took  Yan 
by  the  hand  and  led  him  upstairs  to  bed. 

Twenty  minutes  later  she  came  to  see  if  he  was 
comfortable.  She  tucked  the  clothes  in  around 
him,  then,  stooping  down  for  a  good-night  kiss,  she 
found  his  face  wet  with  tears.  She  put  her  arms 

107 


Two  Little  Savages 


about  him  for  a  moment,  kissed  him  several  times, 
and  said,  "Never  mind,  you  will  feel  all  right 
to-morrow,"  then  wisely  left  him  alone. 

Whence  came  that  load  of  misery  and  horror,  or 
whither  it  went,  Yan  never  knew.  He  saw  it  no 
more,  and  the  next  morning  he  began  to  interest 
himself  in  his  new  world. 

William  Raften  had  a  number  of  farms  all  in  fine 
order  and  clear  of  mortgages ;  and  each  year  he  added 
to  his  estates.  He  was  sober,  shrewd,  even  cunning, 
hated  by  most  of  his  neighbours  because  he  was  too 
clever  for  them  and  kept  on  getting  richer.  His 
hard  side  was  for  the  world  and  his  soft  side  for  his 
family.  Not  that  he  was  really  soft  in  any  respect. 
He  had  had  to  fight  his  life-battle  alone,  beginning 
with  nothing,  and  the  many  hard  knocks  had  hardened 
him,  but  the  few  who  knew  him  best  could  testify  to 
the  warm  Irish  heart  that  continued  unchanged 
within  him,  albeit  it  was  each  year  farther  from 
the  surface.  His  manners,  even  in  the  house,  were 
abrupt  and  masterful.  There  was  no  mistaking 
his  orders,  and  no  excuse  for  not  complying  with 
them.  To  his  children  when  infants,  and  to  his 
wife  only,  he  was  always  tender,  and  those  who  saw 
him  cold  and  grasping,  overreaching  the  sharpers 
of  the  grain  market,  would  scarcely  have  recognized 
the  big,  warm-hearted  happy-looking  father  at  home 
an  hour  later  when  he  was  playing  horse  with  his 
baby  daughter  or  awkwardly  paying  post-graduate 
court  to  his  smiling  wife. 

108 


The  New  Home 

He  had  little  "eddication,"  could  hardly  read,  and 
was  therefore  greatly  impressed  with  the  value  of 
"book  larnin',"  and  determined  that  his  own  children 
should  have  the  "best  that  money  could  git  in  that 
line,"  which  probably  meant  that  they  should  read 
fluently.  His  own  reading  was  done  on  Sunday 
mornings,  when  he  painfully  spelled  out  the  important 
items  in  a  weekly  paper;  "important "  meant  referring 
to  the  produce  market  or  the  prize  ring,  for  he  had 
been  known  and  respected  as  a  boxer,  and  dearly 
loved  the  exquisite  details  of  the  latest  bouts.  He 
used  to  go  to  church  with  his  wife  once  a  month 
to  please  her,  and  thought  it  very  unfair  therefore 
that  she  should  take  no  interest  in  his  favourite 
hobby — the  manly  art. 

Although  hard  and  even  brutal  in  his  dealings 
with  men,  he  could  not  bear  to  see  an  animal  ill  used. 
"The  men  can  holler  when  they're  hurt,  but  the  poor 
dumb  baste  has  no  protection."  He  was  the  only 
farmer  in  the  country  that  would  not  sell  or  shoot  a 
worn-out  horse.  "  The  poor  brute  has  wurruked  hard 
an'  hez  aimed  his  kape  for  the  rest  av  his  days.  "  So 
Duncan,  Jerry  and  several  others  were  "retired"  and 
lived  their  latter  days  in  idleness,  in  one  case  for  more 
than  ten  years. 

Raften  had  thrashed  more  than  one  neighbour  for 
beating  a  horse,  and  once,  on  interfering,  was  himself 
thrashed,  for  he  had  the  ill-luck  to  happen  on  a  prize 
fighter.  But  that  had  no  lasting  effect  on  him.  He 
continued  to  champion  the  dumb  brute  in  his  own 
brutal  way. 

109 


Two  Little  Savages 

Among  the  neighbours  the  perquisites  of  the  boys 
were  the  calfskins.  The  cows'  milk  was  needed  and 
the  calves  of  little  value,  so  usually  they  were  killed 
when  too  young  for  food.  The  boys  did  the  killing, 
making  more  or  less  sport  of  it,  and  the  skins,  worth 
fifty  cents  apiece  green  and  twenty-five  cents  dry, 
at  the  tannery,  were  their  proper  pay.  Raften  never 
allowed  his  son  to  kill  the  calves.  "  Oi  can't  kill  a 
poor  innocent  calf  mesilf  an'  I  won't  hev  me  boy 
doin'  it,"  he  said.  Thus  Sam  was  done  out  of  a 
perquisite,  and  did  not  forget  the  grievance. 

Mrs.  Raften  was  a  fine  woman,  a  splendid  manager, 
loving  her  home  and  her  family,  her  husband's  loyal 
and  ablest  supporter,  although  she  thought  that 
William  was  sometimes  a  "leetle  hard"  on  the  boys. 
They  had  had  a  large  family,  but  most  of  the 
children  had  died.  Those  remaining  were  Sam,  aged 
fifteen,  and  Minnie,  aged  three. 

Yan's  duties  were  fixed  at  once.  The  poultry 
and  half  the  pigs  and  cows  were  to  be  his  charge. 
He  must  also  help  Sam  with  various  other  chores. 

There  was  plenty  to  do  and  clear  rules  about  doing 
it.  But  there  was  also  time  nearly  every  day  for 
other  things  more  in  the  line  of  his  tastes;  for  even 
if  he  were  hard  on  the  boys  in  work  hours,  Raften 
saw  to  it  that  when  they  did  play  they  should  have 
a  good  time.  His  roughness  and  force  made  Yan 
afraid  of  him,  and  as  it  was  Raf ten's  way  to  say 
nothing  until  his  mind  was  fully  made  up,  and  then 
say  it  "strong,"  Yan  was  left  in  doubt  as  to  whether 
or  not  he  was  giving  satisfaction. 

no 


II 

Sam 

SAM  RAFTEN  turned  out  to  be  more  congenial 
than  he  looked.  His  slow,  drawling  speech  had 
given  a  wrong  impression  of  stupidity,  and,  after 
a  formal  showing  of  the  house  under  Mr.  Raften,  a 
real  investigation  was  headed  by  Sam.  "This  yer's 
the  paaar-le-r,"  said  he,  unlocking  a  sort  of  dark 
cellar  aboveground  and  groping  to  open  what 
afterward  proved  to  be  a  dead,  buried  and  almost 
forgotten  window.  In  Sanger  settlement  the  farm 
house  parlour  is  not  a  room;  it  is  an  institution. 
It  is  kept  closed  all  the  week  except  when  the  minister 
calls,  and  the  one  at  Raften's  was  the  pure  type. 
Its  furniture  consisted  of  six  painted  chairs  (fifty 
cents  each),  two  rockers  ($1.49),  one  melodeon  (thirty- 
two  bushels  of  wheat — the  agent  asked  forty),  aside- 
board  made  at  home  of  the  case  the  melodeon  came 
in,  one  rag  carpet  woofed  at  home  and  warped  and 
woven  in  exchange  for  wool,  one  center-table  var 
nished  (!)  ($9.00  cash,  $n.oo  catalogue).  On  the 
center-table  was  one  tintype  album,  a  Bible,  and 
some  large  books  for  company  use.  Though  dusted 
once  a  week,  they  were  never  moved,  and  it  was 
years  later  before  they  were  found  to  have  settled 


Two  Little  Savages 

permanently  into  the  varnish  of  the  table.  In 
extremely  uncostly  frames  on  the  wall  were  the 
coffin-plates  of  the  departed  members  of  the  family. 
It  was  the  custom  at  Sanger  to  honour  the  dead  by 
bringing  back  from  the  funeral  the  name-plate  and 
framing  it  on  a  black  background  with  some  sup 
posed  appropriate  scripture  text. 

The  general  atmosphere  of  the  room  was  fusty  and 
religious,  as  it  was  never  opened  except  on  Sundays 
or  when  the  parson  called,  which  instituted  a  sort 
of  temporary  Sunday,  and  the  two  small  windows 
were  kept  shut  and  plugged  as  well  as  muffled  always, 
with  green  paper  blinds  and  cotton  hangings.  It 
was  a  thing  apart  from  the  rest  of  the  house — a  sort 
of  family  ghost -room ;  a  chamber  of  horrors,  seen  but 
once  a  week. 

But  it  contained  one  thing  at  least  of  interest — 
something  that  at  once  brought  Sam  and  Yan 
together.  This  was  a  collection  of  a  score  of  birds' 
eggs.  They  were  all  mixed  together  in  an  old 
glass-topped  cravat  box,  half  full  of  bran.  None 
of  them  were  labelled  or  properly  blown.  A  collector 
would  not  have  given  it  a  second  glance,  but  it 
proved  an  important  matter.  It  was  as  though 
two  New  Yorkers,  one  disguised  as  a  Chinaman 
and  the  other  as  a  Negro,  had  accidently  met  in 
Greenland  and  by  chance  one  had  made  the 
sign  of  the  secret  brotherhood  to  which  they  both 
belonged. 

"Do  you  like  these  things?"  said  Yan,  with  sudden 

112 


Sam 

interest  and  warmth,  in  spite  of  the  depressing 
surroundings. 

"You  bet,"  said  Sam.  "And  I'd  a-had  twice  as 
many  only  Da  said  it  was  doing  no  good  and  birds 
was  good  for  the  farm." 

"Well,  do  you  know  their  names?" 

"Wall,  I  should  say  so.  I  know  every  Bird  that 
flies  and  all  about  it,  or  putty  near  it,"  drawled  Sam, 
with  an  unusual  stretch  for  him,  as  he  was  not  given 
to  bragging. 

"I  wish  I  did.  Can't  I  get  some  eggs  to  take 
home?" 

"No;  Da  said  if  I  wouldn't  take  any  more  he'd 
lend  me  his  Injun  Chief  gun  to  shoot  Rabbits  with." 

"  What  ?     Are  there  Rabbits  here  ?  " 

"Wall,  I  should  say  so.     I  got  three  last  winter." 

"But  I  mean  now,"  said  Yan,  with  evident  dis 
appointment. 

"They  ain't  so  easy  to  get  at  noiv,  but  we  can  try. 
Some  day  when  all  the  work's  done  I'll  ask  Da  for 
his  gun." 

"When  all  the  work's  done,"  was  a  favourite 
expression  of  the  Raftens  for  indefinitely  shelving  a 
project,  it  sounded  so  reasonable  and  was  really 
so  final. 

Sam  opened  up  the  lower  door  of  the  sideboard 
and  got  out  some  flint  arrow-heads  picked  up  in  the 
ploughing,  the  teeth  of  a  Beaver  dating  from  the 
early  days  of  the  settlement,  and  an  Owl  very  badly 
stuffed.  The  sight  of  these  precious  things  set  Yan 


Two  Little  Savages 

all  ablaze.  "Oh!"  was  all  he  could  say.  Sam  was 
gratified  to  see  such  effect  produced  by  the  family 
possessions  and  explained,  "Da  shot  that  off'n  the 
barn  an'  the  hired  man  stuffed  it." 

The  boys  were  getting  on  well  together  now.  They 
exchanged  confidences  all  day  as  they  met  in  doing 
chores.  In  spite  of  the  long  interruptions,  they  got 
on  so  well  that  Sam  said  after  supper,  "Say,  Yan, 
I'm  going  to  show  you  something,  but  you  must 
promise  never  to  tell — Swelpye!"  Of  course  Yan 
promised  and  added  the  absolutely  binding  and 
ununderst andable  word — ' '  S welpme . ' ' 

"Le's  both  go  to  the  barn,"  said  Sam. 

When  they  were  half  way  he  said:  "Now  I'll 
let  on  I  went  back  for  something.  You  go  on  an' 
round  an'  I'll  meet  you  under  the  'rusty-coat'  in 
the  orchard."  When  they  met  under  the  big  russet 
apple  tree,  Sam  closed  one  of  his  melancholy  eyes 
and  said  in  a  voice  of  unnecessary  hush,  "Follow 
me-"  He  led  to  the  other  end  of  the  orchard  where 
stood  the  old  log  house  that  had  been  the  home 
before  the  building  of  the  brick  one.  It  was  now 
used  as  a  tool  house.  Sam  led  up  a  ladder  to  the 
loft  (this  was  all  wholly  delightful).  There  at  the 
far  end,  and  next  the  little  gable  pane,  he  again 
cautioned  secrecy,  then  when  on  invitation  Yan  had 
once  more  "swelped"  himself,  he  rummaged  in  a 
dirty  old  box  and  drew  out  a  bow,  some  arrows,  a 
rusty  steel  trap,  an  old  butcher  knife,  some  fish 
hooks,  a  flint  and  steel,  a  box  full  of  matches,  and 


114 


Sam 


some  dirty,  greasy-looking  stuff  that  he  said  was 
dried  meat.  "You  see,"  he  explained,  "I  always 
wanted  to  be  a  hunter,  and  Da  was  bound  I'd  be  a 
dentist.  Da  said  there  was  no  money  in  hunting, 
but  one  day  he  had  to  go  to  the  dentist  an'  it  cost 
four  dollars,  an'  the  man  wasn't  half  a  day  at  the 
job,  so  he  wanted  me  to  be  a  dentist,  but  I  wanted 
to  be  a  hunter,  an'  one  day  he  licked  me  and  Bud 
(Bud,  that's  my  brother  that  died  a  year  ago.  If  you 
hear  Ma  talk  you'll  think  he  was  an  angel,  but  I 
always  reckoned  he  was  a  crazy  galoot,  an'  he  was 
the  worst  boy  in  school  by  odds).  Wall,  Da  licked 
us  awful  for  not  feeding  the  hogs,  so  Bud  got  ready 
to  clear  out,  an'  at  first  I  felt  just  like  he  did  an' 
said  I'd  go  too,  an'  we'd  j'ine  the  Injuns.  Anyhow, 
I'd  sure  go  if  ever  I  was  licked  again,  an'  this  was 
the  outfit  we  got  together.  Bud  wanted  to  steal 
Da's  gun  an'  I  wouldn't.  I  tell  you  I  was  hoppin' 
mad  that  time,  an'  Bud  was  wuss — but  I  cooled  off 
an'  talked  to  Bud.  I  says,  'Say  now,  Bud,  it  would 
take  about  a  month  of  travel  to  get  out  West,  an' 
if  the  Injuns  didn't  want  nothin'  but  our  scalps  that 
wouldn't  be  no  fun,  an'  Da  ain't  really  so  bad,  coz 
we  sho'ly  did  starve  them  pigs  so  one  of  'em  died.' 
I  reckon  we  deserved  all  we  got — anyhow,  it  was  all 
dumb  foolishness  about  skinnin'  out,  though  I'd 
like  mighty  well  to  be  a  hunter.  Well,  Bud  died 
that  winter.  You  seen  the  biggest  coffin  plate  on 
the  wall?  Well,  that's  him.  I  see  Ma  lookin'  at 
it  an'  cryin'  the  other  day.  Da  says  he'll  send  me 


Two  Little  Savages 

to  college  if  I'll  be  a  dentist  or  a  lawyer — lawyers 
make  lots  of  money  :  Da  had  a  lawsuit  once — an' 
if  I  don't,  he  says  I  kin  go  to — you  know." 

Here  was  Yan's  own  kind  of  mind,  and  he  opened 
his  heart.  He  told  all  about  his  shanty  in  the  woods 
and  how  he  had  laboured  at  and  loved  it.  He  was 
full  of  enthusiasm  as  of  old,  boiling  over  with  purpose 
and  energy,  and  Sam,  he  realized,  had  at  least  two 
things  that  he  had  not — ability  with  tools  and  cool 
judgment.  It  was  like  having  the  best  parts  of  his 
brother  Rad  put  into  a  real  human  being.  And 
remembering  the  joy  of  his  Glen,  Yan  said: 

"Let's  build  a  shanty  in  the  woods  by  the  creek; 
your  father  won't  care,  will  he?" 

"Not  he,  so  long  as  the  work's  done." 


116 


Ill 

The  Wigwam 

THE  very  next  day  they  must  begin.  As  soon  as 
every  chore  was  done  they  went  to  the  woods 
to  select  a  spot. 

The  brook,  or  "creek,"  as  they  called  it,  ran 
through  a  meadow,  then  through  a  fence  into  the 
woods.  This  was  at  first  open  and  grassy,  but 
farther  down  the  creek  it  was  joined  by  a  dense 
cedar  swamp.  Through  this  there  was  no  path, 
but  Sam  said  that  there  was  a  nice  high  place  beyond. 
The  high  ground  seemed  a  long  way  off  in  the  wcods, 
though  only  a  hundred  yards  through  the  swamp, 
but  it  was  the  very  place  for  a  camp — high,  dry  and 
open  hard  woods,  with  the  creek  in  front  and  the 
cedar  swamp  all  around.  Yan  was  delighted.  Sam 
caught  no  little  of  the  enthusiasm,  and  having  brought 
an  axe,  was  ready  to  begin  the  shanty.  But  Yan 
had  been  thinking  hard  all  morning,  and  now  he 
said:  "Sam,  we  don't  wrant  to  be  White  hunters. 
They're  no  good;  we  want  to  be  Indians." 

"Now,  that's  just  where  you  fool  yourself,"  said- 
Sam.  "Da  says  there  ain't  nothin'  an  Injun  can 
do  that  a  White-man  can't  do  better." 


117 


Two  Little  Savages 

"Oh,  what  are  you  talking  about?"  said  Yan 
warmly.  "A  White  hunter  can't  trail  a  moccasined 
foot  across  a  hard  granite  rock.  A  White  hunter 
can't  go  into  the  woods  with  nothing  but  a  knife  and 
make  everything  he  needs.  A  White  hunter  can't 
hunt  with  bows  and  arrows,  and  catch  game  with 
snares,  can  he?  And  there  never  yet  was  a  White 
man  could  make  a  Birch  canoe."  Then,  changing  his 
tone,  Yan  went  on:  "Say,  now,  Sam,  we  want  to 
be  the  best  kind  of  hunters,  don't  we,  so  as  to  be 
ready  for  going  out  West.  Let's  be  Injuns  and 
do  everything  like  Injuns." 

After  all,  this  had  the  advantage  of  romance  and 
picturesqueness,  and  Sam  consented  to  "try  it  for 
awhile,  anyhow."  And  now  came  the  point  of 
Yan's  argument.  "Injuns  don't  live  in  shanties; 
they  live  in  teepees.  Why  not  make  a  teepee 
instead?" 

"That  would  be  just  bully,"  said  Sam,  who  had 
seen  pictures  enough  to  need  no  description,  "but 
what  are  we  to  make  it  of  ? " 

"Well,"  answered  Yan,  promptly  assuming  the 
leadership  and  rejoicing  in  his  ability  to  speak  as  an 
authority,  "the  Plains  Injuns  make  their  teepees  of 
skins,  but  the  wood  Injuns  generally  use  Birch 
bark." 

"Well,  I  bet  you  can't  find  skins  or  Birch  bark 
enough  in  this  woods  to  make  a  teepee  big  enough 
for  a  Chipmunk  to  chaw  nuts  in." 

"We  can  use  Elm  bark." 

118 


The  Wigwam 

"That's  a  heap  easier,"  replied  Sam,  "if  it'll 
answer,  coz  we  cut  a  lot  o'  Elm  logs  last  winter 
and  the  bark'll  be  about  willin'  to  peel  now.  But 
first  let's  plan  it  out." 

This  was  a  good  move,  one  Yan  would  have  over 
looked.  He  would  probably  have  got  a  lot  of  material 
together  and  made  the  plan  afterward,  but  Sam  had 
been  taught  to  go  about  his  work  with  method. 

So  Yan  sketched  on  a  smooth  log  his  remembrance 
of  an  Indian  teepee.  "It  seems  to  me  it  was  about 
this  shape,  with  the  poles  sticking  up  like  that,  a 
hole  for  the  smoke  here  and  another  for  the  door 
there." 

"Sounds  like  you  hain't  never  seen  one, "  remarked 
Sam,  with  more  point  than  politeness,  "but  we  kin 
try  it.  Now  'bout  how  big?" 

Eight  feet  high  and  eight  feet  across  was  decided 
to  be  about  right.  Four  poles,  each  ten  feet  long, 
were  cut  in  a  few  minutes,  Yan  carrying  them  to  a 
smooth  place  above  the  creek  as  fast  as  Sam  cut  them. 

"Now,  what  shall  we  tie  them  with?"  said  Yan. 

"You  mean  for  rope?" 

"Yes,  only  we  must  get  everything  in  the  woods; 
real  rope  ain't  allowed." 

"I  kin  fix  that,  "said  Sam;  "when  Da  double-staked 
the  orchard  fence,  he  lashed  every  pair  of  stakes  at 
the  top  with  Willow  withes." 

"That's  so — I  quite  forgot,"  said  Yan.  In  a  few 
minutes  they  were  at  work  trying  to  tie  the  four  poles 
together  with  slippery  stiff  Willows,  but  it  was  no 

IIQ 


Two  Little  Savages 

easy  matter.  They  had  to  be  perfectly  tight  or  they 
would  slip  and  fall  in  a  heap  each  time  they  were 
raised,  and  it  seemed  at  length  that  the  boys  would 
be  forced  to  the  impropriety  of  using  hay  wire,  when 
they  heard  a  low  grunt,  and  turning,  saw  William 
Raften  standing  with  his  hands  behind  him  as 
though  he  had  watched  them  for  hours. 

The  boys  were  no  little  startled.  Raften  had  a 
knack  of  turning  up  at  any  point  when  something  was 
going  on,  taking  in  the  situation  fully,  and  then,  if 
he  disapproved,  of  expressing  himself  in  a  few  words 
of  blistering  mockery  delivered  in  a  rich  Irish  brogue. 
Just  what  view  he  would  take  of. their  pastime  the 
boys  had  no  idea,  but  awaited  with  uneasiness. 
If  they  had  been  wasting  time  when  they  should 
have  been  working  there  is  no  question  but  that  they 
would  have  been  sent  with  contumely  to  more 
profitable  pursuits,  but  this  was  within  their  rightful 
play  hours,  and  Raften,  after  regarding  them  with  a 
searching  look,  said  slowly:  "Bhoys!"  (Sam  felt 
easier;  his  father  would  have  said  "  Bhise"  if  really 
angry.)  "Fhat's  the  good  o'  wastin'  yer  time" 
(Yan's  heart  sank)  "wid  Willow  withes  fur  a  job  like 
that  ?  They  can't  be  made  to  howld.  Whoi  don't 
ye  git  some  hay  woire  or  coord  at  the  barrun?" 

The  boys  were  greatly  relieved,  but  still  this 
friendly  overture  might  be  merely  a  feint  to  open  the 
way  for  a  home  thrust.  Sam  was  silent.  So  Yan 
said,  presently,  "We  ain't  allowed  to  use  anything 
but  what  the  Indians  had  or  could  get  in  the  woods." 


120 


The  Wigwam 

"An'  who  don't  allow  yez?" 

"The  rules." 

"Oh, "said  William,  with  some  amusement.  "Oi 
see !  Hyar." 

He  went  into  the  woods  looking  this  way  and  that, 
and  presently  stopped  at  a  lot  of  low  shrubs. 

"Do  ye  know  what  this  is,  Yan?" 

"No,  sir." 

"Le's  see  if  yer  man  enough  to  break  it  afT. " 

Yan  tried.  The  wood  was  brittle  enough,  but  the 
bark,  thin,  smooth  and  pliant,  was  as  tough  as 
leather,  and  even  a  narrow  strip  defied  his 
strength. 

"  That's  Litherwood,"  said  Raften.  "That's  what 
the  Injuns  used;  that's  what  we  used  ourselves  in 
the  airly  days  of  this  yer  settlement." 

The  boys  had  looked  for  a  rebuke,  and  here  was  a 
helping  hand.  It  all  turned  on  the  fact  that  this 
was  "play  hours."  Raften  left  with  a  parting  word: 
"  In  wan  hour  an'  a  half  the  pigs  is  fed." 

"  You  see  Da's  all  right  when  the  work  ain't  forgot," 
said  Sam,  with  a  patronizing  air.  "I  wonder  why 
I  didn't  think  o'  that  there  Leatherwood  meself. 
I've  often  heard  that  that's  what  was  used  fur  tying 
bags  in  the  old  days  when  cord  was  scarce,  an'  the 
Injuns  used  it  for  tying  their  prisoners,  too.  Ain't 
it  the  real  stuff?" 

Several  strips  were  now  used  for  tying  four  poles 
together  at  the  top,  then  these  four  were  raised  on 
end  and  spread  out  at  the  bottom  to  serve  as  the 

121 


Two  Little  Savages 

frame  of  the  teepee,  or  more  properly  wigwam,  since 
it  was  to  be  made  of  bark. 

After  consulting,  they  now  got  a  long,  limber 
Willow  rod  an  inch  thick,  and  bending  it  around  like 
a  hoop,  they  tied  it  with  Leatherwood  to  each  pole 
at  a  point  four  feet  from  the  ground.  Next  they 
cut  four  short  poles  to  reach  from  the  ground  to  this. 
These  were  lashed  at  their  upper  ends  to  the  Willow 
rod,  and  now  they  were  ready  for  the  bark  slabs. 
The  boys  went  to  the  Elm  logs  and  again  Sam's  able 
use  of  the  axe  came  in.  He  cut  the  bark  open  along 
the  top  of  one  log,  and  by  using  the  edge  of  the  axe 
and  some  wooden  wedges  they  pried  off  a  great  roll 
eight  feet  long  and  four  feet  across.  It  was  a 
pleasant  surprise  to  see  what  a  wide  piece  of  bark 
the  small  log  gave  them. 

Three  logs  yielded  three  fine  large  slabs  and  others 
yielded  pieces  of  various  sizes.  The  large  ones  were 
set  up  against  the  frame  so  as  to  make  the  most  of 
them.  Of  course  they  were  much  too  big  for  the  top, 
and  much  too  narrow  for  the  bottom;  but  the  little 
pieces  would  do  to  patch  if  some  way  could  be  found 
to  make  them  stick. 

Sam  suggested  nailing  them  to  the  posts,  and 
Yan  was  horrified  at  the  idea  of  using  nails.  "No 
Indian  has  any  nails." 

"Well,  what  would  they  use?"  said  Sam. 

"They  used  thongs,  an' — an' — maybe  wooden 
pegs.  I  don't  know,  but  seems  to  me  that  would 
be  all  right." 


122 


The  Wigwam 

"But  them  poles  is  hard  wood,"  objected  the 
practical  Sam.  "You  can  drive  Oak  pegs  into  Pine, 
but  you  can't  drive  wooden  pegs  into  hard  wood 
without  you  make  some  sort  of  a  hole  first.  Maybe 
I'd  better  bring  a  gimlet. " 

"Now,  Sam,  you  might  just  as  well  hire  a  carpenter 
— that  wouldn't  be  Indian  at  all.  Let's  play  it  right. 
We'll  find  some  way.  I  believe  we  can  tie  them  up 
with  Leatherwood." 

So  Sam  made  a  sharp  Oak  pick  with  his  axe,  and 
Yan  used  it  to  pick  holes  in  each  piece  of  bark  and 
then  did  a  sort  of  rude  sewing  till  the  wigwam 
seemed  beautifully  covered  in.  But  when  they 
went  inside  to  look  they  were  unpleasantly  surprised 
to  find  how  many  holes  there  were.  It  was  impossible 
to  close  them  all  because  the  bark  was  cracking  in 
so  many  places,  but  the  boys  plugged  the  worst  of 
them  and  then  prepared  for  the  great  sacred  cere 
mony — the  lighting  of  the  fire  in  the  middle. 

They  gathered  a  lot  of  dry  fuel,  then  Yan  produced 
a  match. 

"That  don't  look  to  me  very  Injun,"  drawled 
Sam  critically.  "I  don't  think  Injuns  has  matches." 

"Well,  they  don't,"  admitted  Yan,  humbly. 
"But  I  haven't  a  flint  and  steel,  and  don't  know  how 
to  work  rubbing-sticks,  so  we  just  got  to  use  matches, 
if  we  want  a  fire." 

"Why,  of  course  we  want  a  fire.  I  ain't  kicking," 
said  Sam.  "Go  ahead  with  your  old  leg-fire  sulphur 
stick.  A  camp  without  a  fire  would  be  'bout  like 

123 


Two  Little  Savages 

last  year's  bird's  nest  or  a  house  with  the  roof 
off." 

Yan  struck  a  match  and  put  it  to  the  wood.  It 
went  out.  He  struck  another — same  result.  Yet 
another  went  out. 

Sam  remarked: 

"'Pears  to  me  you  don't  know  much  about  lightin' 
a  fire.  Lemme  show  you.  Let  the  White  hunter  learn 
the  Injun  somethin'  about  the  woods,"  said  he  with 
a  leer. 

Sam  took  the  axe  and  cut  some  sticks  of  a  dry 
Pine  root.  Then  with  his  knife  he  cut  long  curling 
shavings,  which  he  left  sticking  in  a  fuzz  at  the  end 
of  each  stick. 

"Oh,  I've  seen  a  picture  of  an  Indian  making 
them.  They  call  them  'prayer-sticks,'"  said  Yan. 

"Well,  prayer-sticks  is  mighty  good  kindlin'," 
replied  the  other.  He  struck  a  match,  and  in  a 
minute  he  had  a  blazing  fire  in  the  middle  of  the 
wigwam. 

"Old  Granny  de  Neuville,  she's  a  witch — she 
knows  all  about  the  woods,  and  cracked  Jimmy  turns 
everything  into  poetry  what  she  says.  He  says  she 
says  when  you  want  to  make  a  fire  in  the  woods  you 
take — 

44 '  First  a  curl  of  Birch  bark  as  dry  as  it  kin  be, 

Then  some  twigs  of  soft  wood,  dead,  but  on  the  tree, 

Last  o'  all  some  Pine  knots  to  make  the  kittle  foam, 

An*  thar's  a  fire  to  make  you  think  you're  settin*  right  at  home. " 


124 


The  "Wigwam 

"Who's  Granny  de  Neuville?" 

"Oh,  she's  the  old  witch  that  lives  down  at  the 
bend  o'  the  creek." 

"What?  Has  she  got  a  granddaughter  named 
Biddy?"  said  Yan,  suddenly  remembering  that  his 
ancient  ally  came  from  this  part  of  Sanger. 

"Oh,  my!  Hain't  she?  Ain't  Biddy  a  peach — 
drinks  like  a  fish,  talks  everybody  to  death  about 
the  time  she  resided  in  Bonnerton.  Gits  a  letter 
every  mail  begging  her  to  come  back  and  'reside' 
with  them  some  more." 

"Ain't  this  fine,"  said  Yan,  as  he  sat  on  a  pile  of 
Fir  boughs  in  the  wigwam. 

"Looks  like  the  real  thing,"  replied  Sam  from  his 
seat  on  the  other  side.  "But  say,  Yan,  don't 
make  any  more  fire;  it's  kind  o'  warm  here,  an'  there 
seems  to  be  something  wrong  with  that  flue — wants 
sweepin',  prob'ly — hain't  been  swep'  since  I  kin 
remember." 

The  fire  blazed  up  and  the  smoke  increased. 
Just  a  little  of  it  wandered  out  of  the  smoke-hole  at 
the  top,  then  it  decided  that  this  was  a  mistake  and 
thereafter  positively  declined  to  use  the  vent.  Some 
of  it  went  out  by  chinks,  and  a  large  stream  issued 
from  the  door,  but  by  far  the  best  part  of  it  seemed 
satisfied  with  the  interior  of  the  wigwam,  so  that  in 
a  minute  or  less  both  boys  scrambled  out.  Their 
eyes  were  streaming  with  smoke-tears  and  their 
discomfiture  was  complete. 

"'Pears  to  me, "observed  Sam,  "like  we  got  them 


I25 


Two  Little  Savages 

holes  mixed.  The  dooer  should  'a  'been  at  the  top, 
sence  the  smoke  has  a  fancy  for  usin'  it,  an'  then  we'd 
had  a  chance." 

"The  Indians  make  it  work,"  said  Yan;"a  White 
hunter  ought  to  know  how." 

"Now's  the  Injun's  chance,"  said  Sam.  "Maybe 
it  wants  a  dooer  to  close,  then  the  smoke  would  have 
to  go  out." 

They  tried  this,  and  of  course  some  of  the  smoke 
was  crowded  out,  but  not  till  long  after  the  boys 
were. 

"Seems  like  what  does  get  out  by  the  chinks  is 
sucked  back  agin  by  that  there  double-action  flue," 
said  Sam. 

It  was  very  disappointing.  The  romance  of 
sitting  by  the  fire  in  one's  teepee  appealed  to  both 
of  the  boys,  but  the  physical  torture  of  the  smoke 
made  it  unbearable.  Their  dream  was  dispelled, 
and  Sam  suggested,  "  Maybe  we'd  better  try  a  shanty." 

"No,"  said  Yan,  with  his  usual  doggedness. 
"I  know  it  can  be  done,  because  the  Indians  do  it. 
We'll  find  out  in  time." 

But  all  their  efforts  were  in  vain.  The  wigwam 
was  a  failure,  as  far  as  fire  was  concerned.  It  was 
very  small  and  uncomfortable,  too;  the  wind  blew 
through  a  hundred  crevices,  which  grew  larger  as  the 
Elm  bark  dried  and  cracked.  A  heavy  shower 
caught  them  once,  and  they  were  rather  glad  to  be 
driven  into  their  cheerless  lodge,  but  the  rain 
came  abundantly  into  the  smoke-hole  as  well  as 

126 


' 


' 


w- 


j*:  *«ml 


••' 


The  wigwam  was  a  failure  " 


The  Wigwam 

through  the  walls,  and  they  found  it  but  little 
protection. 

"Seems  to  me,  if  anything,  a  kctle  wetter  in  here 
than  outside,"  said  Sam,  as  he  led  in  a  dash  for  home. 

That  night  a  heavy  storm  set  in,  and  next  day 
the  boys  found  their  flimsy  wigwam  blown  down — 
nothing  but  a  heap  of  ruins. 

Some  time  after,  Raften  asked  at  the  table  in 
characteristic  stern  style,  "  Bhoys,  what's  doin' 
down  to  yer  camp?  Is  yer  wigwam  finished?" 

"No  good,"  said  Sam.     "All  blowed  down." 

"  How's  that  ?" 

"I  dunno'.  It  smoked  like  everything.  We 
couldn't  stay  in  it." 

"Couldn't  a-been  right  made,"  said  Raften;  then 
with  a  sudden  interest,  which  showed  how  eagerly 
he  would  have  joined  in  this  forty  years  ago,  he 
said,  "Why  don't  ye  make  a  rale  taypay?" 

"Dunno'  how,  an'  ain't  got  no  stuff." 

"Wall,  now,  yez  have  been  pretty  good  an'  ain't 
slacked  on  the  wurruk,  yez  kin  have  the  ould  wagon 
kiver.  Cousin  Bert  could  tache  ye  how  to  make 
it,  if  he  wuz  here.  Maybe  Caleb  Clark  knows," 
he  added,  with  a  significant  twinkle  of  his  eye. 
"Better  ask  him."  Then  he  turned  to  give  orders 
to  the  hired  men,  who,  of  course,  ate  at  the  family 
table. 

"Da,  do  you  care  if  we  go  to  Caleb?" 

"I  don't  care  fwhat  ye  do  wid  him,  "was  the  reply. 

Raften  was  no  idle  talker  and  Sam  knew  that,  so 


129 


Two  Little  Savages 

as  soon  as  "the  law  was  off"  he  and  Yan  got  out  the 
old  wagon  cover.  It  seemed  like  an  acre  of  canvas 
when  they  spread  it  out.  Having  thus  taken  pos 
session,  they  put  it  away  again  in  the  cow-house, 
their  own  domain,  and  Sam  said:  "I've  a  great 
notion  to  go  right  to  Caleb;  he  sho'ly  knows  more 
about  a  teepee  than  any  one  else  here,  which  ain't 
sayin'  much." 

"Who's  Caleb?" 

"Oh,  he's  the  old  Billy  Goat  that  shot  at  Da 
oncet,  just  after  Da  beat  him  at  a  horse  trade.  Let 
on  it  was  a  mistake:  'twas,  too,  as  he  found  out, 
coz  Da  bought  up  some  old  notes  of  his,  got  'em 
cheap,  and  squeezed  him  hard  to  meet  them.  He's 
had  hard  luck  ever  since. 

"He's  a  mortal  queer  old  duck,  that  Caleb.  He 
knows  heaps  about  the  woods,  coz  he  was  a  hunter 
an'  trapper  oncet.  My  !  wouldn't  he  be  down  on  me 
if  he  knowed  who  was  my  Da,  but  he  don't  have  to 
know." 


130 


IV 
The  Sanger  Witch 

The  Sanger  Witch  dwelt  in  the  bend  of  the  creek, 

And  neither  could  read  nor  write; 

But  she  knew  in  a  day  what  few  knew  in  a  week, 

For  hers  was  the  second  sight. 

44  Read  ?  "  said  she,  "  I  am  double  read; 

You  fools  of  the  ink  and  pen 

Count  never  the  eggs,  but  the  sticks  of  the  nest, 

See  the  clothes,  not  the  souls  of  men," 

— Cracked  Jimmy's  Ballad  of  Sanger. 

THE  boys  set  out  for  Caleb's.  It  was  up  the 
creek  away  from  the  camp  ground.  As  they 
neared  the  bend  they  saw  a  small  log  shanty, 
with  some  poultry  and  a  pig  at  the  door. 

"That's  where  the  witch  lives,"  said  Sam. 

"Who — old  Granny  de  Neuville?" 

"Yep,  and  she  just  loves  me.  Oh,  yes;  about  the 
same  way  an  old  hen  loves  a  Chicken-hawk.  Tears 
to  me  she  sets  up  nights  to  love  me. " 

"Why?" 

"  Oh,  I  guess  it  started  with  the  pigs.  No,  let's  see : 
first  about  the  trees.  Da  chopped  off  a  lot  of  Elm 
trees  that  looked  terrible  nice  from  her  windy.  She's 
awful  queer  about  a  tree.  She  hates  to  see  'em  cut 
down,  an'  that  soured  her  same  as  if  she  owned  'em. 


Two  Little  Savages 

Then  there  wuz  the  pigs.  You  see,  one  winter  she  was 
awful  hard  up,  an'  she  had  two  pigs  worth,  maybe, 
$5. oo  each — anyway,  she  said  they  was,  an'  she  ought 
to  know,  for  they  lived  right  in  the  shanty  with  her — 
an'  she  come  to  Da  (I  guess  she  had  tried  every  one 
else  first)  an'  Da  he  squeezed  her  down  an'  got  the  two 
pigs  for  $7.00.  He  al'ays  does  that.  Then  he  comes 
home  an'  says  to  Ma,  '  Seems  to  me  the  old  lady  is 
pretty  hard  put.  'Bout  next  Saturday  you  take  two 
sacks  of  flour  and  some  pork  an'  potatoes  around  an' 
see  that  she  is  fixed  up  right.'  Da's  al'ays  doin'  them 
things,  too,  on  the  quiet.  So  Ma  goes  with  about 
$15.00  worth  o'  truck.  The  old  witch  was  kinder 
'stand  off.'  She  didn't  say  much.  Ma  was  goin' 
slow,  not  knowin'  just  whether  to  give  the  stuff  out 
an'  out,  or  say  it  could  be  worked  for  next  year,  or 
some  other  year,  when  there  was  two  moons,  or  some 
time  when  the  work  was  all  done.  Well,  the  old 
witch  said  mighty  little  until  the  stuff  was  all  put  in 
the  cellar,  then  she  grabs  up  a  big  stick  an'  breaks  out 
at  Ma: 

"  '  Now  you  git  out  o'  my  house,  you  dhirty,  sthuck- 
up  thing.  I  ain't  takin'  no  charity  from  the  likes  o' 
you.  That  thing  you  call  your  husband  robbed  me 
o'  my  pigs,  an'  we  ain't  any  more'n  square  now,  so 
git  out  an'  don't  you  dar  set  fut  in  my  house  agin'.' 

"Well,  she  was  sore  on  us  when  Da  bought  her 
pigs,  but  she  was  five  times  wuss  after  she  clinched 
the  groceries.  'Pears  like  they  soured  on  her  stum- 
mick. " 

132 


The  Sanger  Witch 

"What  a  shame,  the  old  wretch,"  said  Yan,  with 
ready  sympathy  for  the  Raftens. 

"No,"  replied  Sam;  "she's  only  queer.  There's 
lots  o'  folk  takes  her  side.  But  she's  awful  queer. 
She  won't  have  a  tree  cut  if  she  can  help  it,  an'  when 
the  flowers  come  in  the  spring  she  goes  out  in  the 
woods  and  sets  down  beside  'em  for  hours  an'  calls 
'em  'Me  beauty — me  little  beauty,'  an'  she  just  loves 
the  birds.  When  the  boys  want  to  rile  her  they  get  a 
sling-shot  an'  shoot  the  birds  in  her  garden  an'  she 
just  goes  crazy.  She  pretty  near  starves  herself 
every  winter  trying  to  feed  all  the  birds  that  come 
around.  She  has  lots  of  'em  to  feed  right  out  o'  her 
hand.  Da  says  they  think  its  an  old  pine  root,  but 
she  has  a  way  o'  coaxin'  'em  that's  awful  nice.  There 
she'll  stand  in  freezin1  weather  calling  them  'Me 
beauties'. 

"You  see  that  little  windy  in  the  end?"  he 
continued,  as  they  came  close  to  the  witch's  hut. 
"Well,  that's  the  loft,  an'  it's  full  o'  all  sorts  o' 
plants  an'  roots. " 

"What   for?" 

"Oh,  for  medicine.     She's  great  on  hairbs.  " 

"Oh,  yes,  I  remember  now  Biddy  did  say  that  her 
Granny  was  a  herb  doctor." 

"Doctor?  She  ain't  much  of  a  doctor,  but  I  bet 
she  knows  every  plant  that  grows  in  the  woods,  an' 
they're  sure  strong  after  they've  been  up  there  for 
a  year,  with  the  cat  sleepin'  on  them. " 

"  I  wish  I  could  go  and  see  her. " 


Two  Little  Savages 

"Guess  we  can,"  was  the  reply. 

"Doesn't  she  know  you?" 

"Yes,  but  watch  me  fix  her,  "  drawled  Sam.  "  There 
ain't  nothin'  she  likes  better 'n  a  sick  pusson. " 

Sam  stopped  now,  rolled  up  his  sleeves  and  exam 
ined  both  arms,  apparently  without  success,  for  he 
then  loosed  his  suspenders,  dropped  his  pants,  and 
proceeded  to  examine  his  legs.  Of  course,  all  boys 
have  more  or  less  cuts  and  bruises  in  various  stages  of 
healing.  Sam  selected  his  best,  just  below  the  knee, 
a  scratch  from  a  nail  in  the  fence.  He  had  never 
given  it  a  thought  before,  but  now  he  "reckoned  it 
would  do."  With  a  lead  pencil  borrowed  from  Yan 
he  spread  a  hue  of  mortification  all  around  it,  a  green 
butternut  rind  added  the  unpleasant  yellowish-brown 
of  human  decomposition,  and  the  result  was  a  frightful 
looking  plague  spot.  By  chewing  some  grass  he  made 
a  yellowish-green  dye  and  expectorated  this  on  the 
handkerchief  which  he  bound  on  the  sore.  He  then 
got  a  stick  and  proceeded  to  limp  painfully  toward 
the  witch's  abode.  As  they  drew  near,  the  partly 
open  door  was  slammed  with  ominous  force.  Sam, 
quite  unabashed,  looked  at  Yan  and  winked,  then 
knocked.  The  bark  of  a  small  dog  answered.  He 
knocked  again.  A  sound  now  of  some  one  moving 
within,  but  no  answer.  A  third  time  he  knocked, 
then  a  shrill  voice:  "Get  out  o'  that.  Get  aff  my 
place,  you  dirthy  young  riff -raff. " 

Sam  grinned  at  Yan.  Then  drawling  a  little  more 
than  usual,  he  said: 

134 


The  Sanger  Witch 

"It's  a  poor  boy,  Granny.  The  doctors  can't  do 
nothin'  for  him,"  which  last,  at  least,  was  quite  true. 

There  was  no  reply,  so  Sam  made  bold  to  open 
the  door.  There  sat  the  old  woman  glowering  with 
angry  red  eyes  across  the  stove,  a  cat  in  her  lap,  a 
pipe  in  her  mouth,  and  a  dog  growling  toward  the 
strangers. 

"Ain't  you  Sam  Raften?"  she  asked  fiercely. 

"Yes,  marm.  I  got  hurt  on  a  nail  in  the  fence. 
They  say  you  kin  git  blood-p'isinin'  that  way,"  said 
Sam,  groaning  a  little  and  trying  to  look  interesting. 
The  order  to  "get  out"  died  on  the  witch's  lips.  Her 
good  old  Irish  heart  warmed  to  the  sufferer.  After 
all,  it  was  rather  pleasant  to  have  the  enemy  thus 
humbly  seek  her  aid,  so  she  muttered: 

"Le's  see  it. " 

Sam  was  trying  amid  many  groans  to  expose  the 
disgusting  mess  he  had  made  around  his  knee,  when  a 
step  was  heard  outside.  The  door  opened  and  in 
walked  Biddy. 

She  and  Yan  recognized  each  other  at  once.  The 
one  had  grown  much  longer,  the  other  much  broader 
since  the  last  meeting,  but  the  greeting  was  that 
of  two  warm-hearted  people  glad  to  see  each  other 
once  more. 

"An'  how's  yer  father  an'  yer  mother  an'  how  is  all 
the  fambily?  Law,  do  ye  mind  the  Cherry  Lung- 
balm  we  uster  make  ?  My,  but  we  wuz  greenies  then  ! 
Ye  mind,  I  uster  tell  ye  about  Granny?  Well,  here 
she  is.  Granny,  this  is  Yan.  Me  an'  him  hed  lots 


Two  Little  Savages 

o'  fun  together  when  I  'resided'  with  his  mamma, 
didn't  we,  Yan?  Now,  Granny's  the  one  to  tell  ye 
all  about  the  plants.  " 

A  long  groan  from  Sam  now  called  all  attention  his 
way. 

"Well,  if  it  ain't  Sam  Raften, "  said  Biddy  coldly. 

"Yes,  an'  he's  deathly  sick,"  added  Granny. 
"Their  own  docther  guv  him  up  an  said  mortal  man 
couldn't  save  him  nohow,  so  he  jest  hed  to  come  to 
me.  "% 

Another  long  groan  was  ample  indorsement. 

"Le's  see.  Gimme  my  scissors,  Biddy;  I'll  hev  to 
cut  the  pant  leg  aff.  " 

"No,  no,"  Sam  blurted  out  with  sudden  vigour, 
dreading  the  consequences  at  home.  "I  kin  roll 
it  up. " 

"Thayer,  thot'll  do.  Now  I  say,"  said  the  witch. 
"Yes,  sure  enough,  thayer  is  proud  flesh.  I  moight 
cut  it  out,"  said  she,  fumbling  in  her  pocket  (Sam 
supposed  for  a  knife,  and  made  ready  to  dash  for  the 
door),  "but  le's  see,  no — that  would  be  a  fool  docther 
trick.  I  kin  git  on  without." 

"  Yes,  sure,  "  said  Sam,  clutching  at  the  idea,  "that's 
just  what  a  fool  doctor  would  do,  but  you  kin  give 
me  something  to  take  that's  far  better.  " 

"Well,  sure  an'  I  kin, "  and  Yan  and  Sam  breathed 
more  freely.  "Shwaller  this,  now,"  and  she  offered 
him  a  tin  cup  of  water  into  which  she  spilled  some 
powder  of  dry  leaves.  Sam  did  so.  "An'  you  take 
this  yer  bundle  and  bile  it  in  two  gallons  of  wather 

136 


The  Sanger  Witch 

and  drink  a  glassful  ivery  hour,  an'  hev  a  loive 
chicken  sphlit  with  an  axe  an'  laid  hot  on  the  place 
twicet  ivery  day,  till  the  proud  flesh  goes,  an'  it'll  be. 
all  right  wid  ye — a  fresh  chicken  iverytoime,nioindye." 

"Wouldn't — turkeys — do — better?"  groaned  Sam, 
feebly.  "I'm  me  mother's  pet,  Granny,  an'  expense 
ain't  any  objek" — a  snort  that  may  have  meant 
mortal  agony  escaped  him. 

"  Niver  moind,  now.  Sure  we  won't  talk  of  yer  father 
an'  mother;  they're  punished  pretty  bad  already. 
Hiven  forbid  they  don't  lose  the  rest  o'  ye  fur  their 
sins.  It  ain't  meself  that  'ud  bear  ony  ill-will.  " 

A  long  groan  cut  short  what  looked  like  a  young 
sermon. 

"What's  the  plant,  Granny  ?"  asked  Yan,  carefully 
avoiding  Sam's  gaze. 

"  Shure,  an'  it  grows  in  the  woods.  " 

"Yes,  but  I  want  to  know  what  it's  like  and  what 
it's  called." 

"Shure,  'tain't  like  nothin'  else.  It's  just  like 
itself,  an'  it's  called  Witch-hazel. 

444  Witch-hazel  blossoms  in  the  faat, 
To  cure  the  chills  and  Fayvers  aall/ 

as  cracked  Jimmy  says. 

"I'll  show  you  some  av  it  sometime,"  said  Biddy. 

"Can  it  be  made  into  Lung-balm?"  asked  Yan, 
mischievously. 

"I  guess  we'll  have  to  go  now,"  Sam  feebly  put 
in.  "I'm  feeling  much  better.  Where's  my  stick? 

137 


Two  Little  Savages 

Here,  Yan,  you  kin  carry  my  medicine,  an'  be  very 
keerful  of  it." 

Yan  took  the  bundle,  not  daring  to  look  Sam  in 
the  face. 

Granny  bade  them  both  come  back  again,  and 
followed  to  the  door  with  a  hearty  farewell.  At  the 
same  moment  she  said: 

"  Howld  on  !"  Then  she  went  to  the  one  bed  in  the 
room,  which  also  was  the  house,  turned  down  the 
clothes,  and  in  the  middle  exposed  a  lot  of  rosy 
apples.  She  picked  out  two  of  the  best  and  gave 
one  to  each  of  the  boys. 

"Shure,  Oi  hev  to  hoide  them  thayer  fram  the 
pig,  for  they're  the  foinest  iver  grew." 

"I  know  they  are,"  whispered  Sam,  as  he  limped 
out  of  hearing,  "for  her  son  Larry  stole  them  out 
of  our  orchard  last  fall.  They're  the  only  kind 
that  keeps  over.  They're  the  best  that  grow,  but 
a  trifle  too  warm  just  now." 

"Good-by,   and  thank  you  much,"  said  Yan. 

"I-feel-better-already,"'  drawled  Sam.  "That 
tired  feeling  has  left  me,  an'  sense  tryin'  your  remedy 
I  have  took  no  other,"  but  added  aside,  "I  wish  I 
could  throw  up  the  stuff  before  it  pisens  me,"  and 
then,  with  a  keen  eye  to  the  picturesque  effect,  he 
wanted  to  fling  his  stick  away  and  bound  into  the 
woods. 

It  was  all  Yan  could  do  to  make  him  observe  some 
of  the  decencies  and  limp  a  little  till  out  of  sight. 
As  i*  was,  the  change  was  quite  marked  and  the 

138 


The  Sanger  Witch 

genial  old  witch  called  loudly  on  Biddy  to  see  with 
her  own  eyes  how  quickly  she  had  helped  young 
Raften  "afther  all  the  dochters  in  the  country  hed 
giv  him  up." 

"Now  for  Caleb  Clark,  Esq.,  Q.  C.,"  said  Sam. 

"Q.  C.  ?"  inquired  his  friend. 

"Some  consider  it  means  Queen's  Counsel,  an' 
some  claims  as  it  stands  for  Queer  Cuss.  One  or 
other  maybe  is  right." 

"You're  stepping  wonderfully  for  a  crippled  boy 
the  doctors  have  given  up,"  remarked  Yan. 

"Yes;  that's  the  proud  flesh  in  me  right  leg  that's 
doin'  the  high  steppin'.  The  left  one  is  jest  plain 
laig." 

"Let's  hide  this  somewhere  till  we  get  back,"  and 
Yan  held  up  the  bundle  of  Witch-hazel. 

"I'll  hide  that,"  said  Sam,  and  he  hurled  the 
bundle  afar  into  the  creek. 

"Oh,  Sam,  that's  mean.  Maybe  she  wants  it 
herself." 

"Pooh,  that's  all  the  old  brush  is  good  for.  I 
done  more'n  me  duty  when  I  drank  that  swill.  I 
could  fairly  taste  the  cat  in  it." 

"What '11  you  tell  her  next  time?" 

"Well,  I'll  tell  her  I  put  the  sticks  in  the  right 
place  an'  where  they  done  the  most  good.  I  soaked 
'em  in  water  an'  took  as  much  as  I  wanted  of  the 
flooid. 

"  She'll  see  for  herself  I  really  did  pull  through, 
and  will  be  a  blamed  sight  happier  than  if  I  drank  her 


Two  Little  Savages 

old  pisen  brushwood   an'   had  to  send  for  a  really 
truly  doctor." 

Yan  was  silenced,  but  not  satisfied.  It  seemed 
discourteous  to  throw  the  sticks  away— -so  soon, 
anyway;  besides,  he  had  curiosity  to  know  just  what 
they  were  and  how  they  acted. 


140 


V 
Caleb 

A  MILE  farther  was  the  shanty  of  Caleb  Clark,  a 
mere  squatter  now  on  a  farm  once  his  owrn. 
As     the     boys     drew    near,    a    tall,    round- 
shouldered  man  with  a  long  white  beard  was   seen 
carrying  in  an  armful  of  wood. 

11  Ye  see  the  Billy  Goat  ? "  said  Sam. 

Yan  sniffed  as  he  gasped  the  "why"  of  the  nick 
name. 

"I  guess  you  better  do  the  talking;  Caleb  ain't  so 
easy  handled  as  the  witch,  and  he's  just  as  sour  on 
Da." 

So  Yan  went  forward  rather  cautiously  and  knocked 
at  the  open  door  of  the  shanty.  A  deep-voiced  Dog 
broke  into  a  loud  bay,  the  long  beard  appeared, 
and  its  owner  said,  "Wall?" 

"Are  you  Mr.  Clark?" 

"Yep."  Then,  "Lie  down,  Turk,"  to  a  black- 
and-tan  Hound  that  came  growling  out. 

"I  came — I — we  wanted  to  ask  some  questions — 
if  you  don't  mind." 

"What  might  yer  name  be?" 

"Yan." 


141 


Two  Little  Savages 

"An'  who  is  this?" 

"He's  my  chum,  Sam." 

"I'm  Sam  Horn,"  said  Sam,  with  some  truth,  for 
he  was  Samuel  Horn  Raft  en,  but  with  sufficient 
deception  to  make  Yan  feel  very  uncomfortable. 

"And  where  are  ye  from?" 

"Bonnerton,"  said  Yan. 

"To-day?"  was  the  rejoinder,  with  a  tone  of 
doubt. 

"Well,  no,"  Yan  began;  but  Sam,  who  had  tried 
to  keep  out  of  notice  for  fear  of  recognition,  saw  that 
his  ingenuous  companion  was  being  quickly  pumped 
and  placed,  and  now  interposed :  "You  see,  Mr.  Clark, 
we  are  camped  in  the  woods  and  we  want  to  make 
a  teepee  to  live  in.  We  have  the  stuff  an'  was  told 
that  you  knew  all  about  the  making." 

"Who  told  ye?" 

"The  old  witch  at  the  bend  of  the  creek." 

"Where  are  ye  livin'  now?" 

"Well,"  said  Sam,  hastening  again  to  forestall 
Yan,  whose  simple  directness  he  feared,  "to  tell 
the  truth,  we  made  a  wigwam  of  bark  in  the  woods 
below  here,  but  it  wasn't  a  success." 

"Whose  woods?" 

"Oh,  about  a  mile  below  on  the  creek." 

"Hm!  That  must  be  Raften's  or  Burns's 
woods." 

"I  guess  it  is,"  said  Sam. 

"An  you  look  uncommon  like  Sam  Raften.  You 
consarned  young  whelp,  to  come  here  lyin'  an'  tryin' 


142 


Caleb 

to  pull  the  wool  over  my  eyes.  Get  out  o'  this  now, 
or  I'll  boot  ye." 

Yan  turned  very  red.  He  thought  of  the  scripture 
text,  "Be  sure  your  sin  will  find  you  out/'  and  he 
stepped  back.  Sam  stuck  his  tongue  in  his  cheek 
and  followed.  But  he  was  his  father's  son.  He 
turned  and  said: 

"Now  see  here,  Mr.  Clark,  fair  and  square;  we 
come  here  to  ask  a  simple  question  about  the  woods. 
You  are  the  only  man  that  knows  or  we  wouldn't 
'a'  bothered  you.  I  knowed  you  had  it  in  for  Da, 
so  I  tried  to  fool  you,  and  it  didn't  go.  I  wish  now 
I  had  just  come  out  square  and  said,  'I'm  Sam 
Raften;  will  you  tell  me  somethin'  I  want  to  know, 
or  won't  you?'  I  didn't  know  you  hed  anything 
agin  me  or  me  friend  that's  camping  with  me." 

There  is  a  strong  bond  of  sympathy  between  all 
Woodcraft ers.  The  mere  fact  that  a  man  wants  to 
go  his  way  is  a  claim  on  a  Woodcrafter's  notice.  Old 
Caleb,  though  soured  by  trouble  and  hot-tempered, 
had  a  kind  heart;  he  resisted  for  a  moment  the  first 
impulse  to  slam  the  door  in  their  faces;  then  as  he 
listened  he  fell  into  the  tempter's  snare,  for  it  was 
baited  with  the  subtlest  of  flatteries.  He  said  to 
Yan: 

"Is  your  name  Raften?" 

"No,  sir." 

"Air  ye  owt  o'  kin?" 

"No,  sir." 


145 


Two  Little  Savages 

"I  don't  want  no  truck  with  Raften,  but  what 
do  ye  want  to  know?" 

"We  built  a  wigwam  of  bark,  but  it's  no  good, 
but  now  we  have  a  big  canvas  cover  an'  want  to 
know  how  to  make  a  teepee." 

"A  teepee.  H-m "  said  the  old  man  re 
flectively. 

"They  say  you've  lived  in  them,"  ventured  Yan. 

"  Hm — 'bout  forty  year;  but  it's  one  thing  to 
wear  a  suit  of  clothes  and  another  thing  to  make 
one.  Seems  to  me  it  was  about  like  this,"  and  he 
took  up  a  burnt  stick  and  a  piece  of  grocer's  paper. 
"No — now  hold  on.  Yes,,  I  remember  now;  I  seen 
a  bunch  of  squaws  make  one  oncet. 

"First  they  sewed  the  skins  together.  No,  first 
thar  was  a  lot  o'  prayin' ;  ye  kin  suit  yerselves  'bout 
that — then  they  sewed  the  skins  together  an'  pegged  it 
down  flat  on  the  prairie  (B  D  HI,  Cut  No.  i). 
Then  put  in  a  peg  at  the  middle  of  one  side  (A). 
Then  with  a  burnt  stick  an'  a  coord — yes,  there 
must  'a'  been  a  coord — they  drawed  a  half  circle — 
so  (B  C  D).  Then  they  cut  that  off,  an'  out  o'  the 
pieces  they  make  two  flaps  like  that  (H  L  M  J  and 
K  N  O  I),  an'  sews  'em  on  to  P  E  and  G  Q.  Them's 
smoke-flaps  to  make  the  smoke  draw.  Thar's  a  upside 
down  pocket  in  the  top  side  corner  o'  each  smoke-flap 
— so — for  the  top  of  each  pole,  and  there  is 
rows  o'  holes  down — so  (M  B  and  N  D,  Cut  No.  2) 
— on  each  side  fur  the  lacin'  pins.  Then  at  the 
top  of  that  pint  (A,  Cut  i)  ye  fasten  a  short  lash-rope. 

146 


:Door  : 


V  V 

F  R 


s  ;  :  ;  :  :Door 


0 


-....  -•• 
..--•'     /5moKe-flap.2  '•• 

' 


5 ix  feet  K 

CUT  I.— PATTERN  FOR  A  SIMPLE  lo-FOOT  TEEPEE 


CUT  II. -THE  COMPLETE  TEEPEE  COVER -UNORNAMENTED 
A— Frame  for  door  B— Door  completed 


Caleb 


Le's  see,  now.  I  reckon  thar's  about  ten  poles  for 
a  ten-foot  lodge,  with  two  more  for 'the  smoke-flaps. 
Now,  when  ye  set  her  up  ye  tie  three  poles  together — so 
— an'  set  'em  up  first,  then  lean  the  other  poles  around, 
except  one,  an'  lash  them  by  carrying  the  rope  around 
a  few  times.  Now  tie  the  top  o'  the  cover  to  the 
top  o'  the  last  pole  by  the  short  lash-rope,  hist  the 
pole  into  place — that  hists  the  cover,  too,  ye  see — 
an'  ye  swing  it  round  with  the  smoke-poles  an'  fasten 
the  two  edges  together  with  the  wooden  pins.  The 
two  long  poles  put  in  the  smoke-flap  pockets  works 
the  vent  to  suit  the  wind." 

In  his  conversation  Caleb  had  ignored  Sam  and 
talked  to  Yan,  but  the  son  of  his  father  was  not  so 
easily  abashed.  He  foresaw  several  practical  diffi 
culties  and  did  not  hesitate  to  ask  for  light. 

"What  keeps  it  from  blowin'   down?"  he   asked. 

"Wall,"  said  Caleb,  still  addressing  Yan,  "the 
long  rope  that  binds  the  poles  is  carried  down  under, 
and  fastened  tight  to  a  stake  that  serves  for  anchor, 
'sides  the  edge  of  the  cover  is  pegged  to  the  ground 
all  around." 

"How  do  you  make  the  smoke  draw?"  was  his 
next. 

"Ye  swing  the  flaps  by  changing  the  poles  till  they 
is  quartering  down  the  wind.  That  draws  best." 

"  How  do  you  close  the  door?" 

"Wall,  some  jest  lets  the  edges  sag  together,  but 
the  best  teepees  has  a  door  made  of  the  same  stuff  as 


si*  [><*" 


Two  Little  Savages 

the  cover  put  tight  on  a  saplin'  frame  an'  swung  from 
a  lacin'  pin. " 

This  seemed  to  cover  the  ground,  so  carefully  folding 
the  dirty  paper  with  the  plan,  Yan  put  it  in  his  pocket, 
said  ' '  Thank  you ' '  and  went  off.  To  the  ' '  Good-day ' ' 
of  the  boys  Caleb  made  no  reply,  but  turned  as  they 
left  and  asked,  "  Whar  ye  camped?" 

"  On  the  knoll  by  the  creek  in  Raften's  swamp.  " 

"  H-m,  maybe  I'll  come  an'  see  ye." 

"All  right,"  Sam  called  out;  "follow  the  blazed 
trail  from  the  brush  fence. " 

"Why,  Sam,"  said  Yan,  as  soon  as  they  were  out 
of  hearing,  "there  isn't  any  blazed  trail;  why  did  you 
say  that?" 

"Oh,  I  thought  it  sounded  well,"  was  the  calm 
answer,  "an'  it's  easy  to  have  the  blazes  there  as  soon 
as  we  want  to,  an'  a  blame  sight  sooner  than  he's 
likely  to  use  them. " 


150 


VI 
The  Making  of  the  Teepee 

RAFTEN  sniffed  in  amusement  when  he  heard 
that  the  boys  had  really  gone  to  Caleb  and  got 
what  they  wanted.  Nothing  pleased  him 
more  than  to  find  his  son  a  successful  schemer. 

"Old  Caleb  wasn't  so  dead  sure  about  the  teepee, 
as  near  as  I  sized  him  up, "  observed  Sam. 

"I  guess  we've  got  enough  to  go  ahead  on,"  said 
Yan,  "an'  tain't  a  hanging  matter  if  we  do  make  a 
mistake. " 

The  cover  was  spread  out  again  flat  and  smooth  on 
the  barn  floor,  and  stones  and  a  few  nails  put  in  the 
sides  to  hold  it. 

The  first  thing  that  struck  them  was  that  it  was  a 
rough  and  tattered  old  rag. 

And  Sam  remarked:  "I  see  now  why  Da  said  we 
could  have  it.  I  reckon  we'll  have  to  patch  it  before 
we  cut  out  the  teepee." 

"No,"  said  Yan,  assuming  control,  as  he  was  apt 
to  do  in  matters  pertaining  to  the  woods;  "we  better 
draw  our  plans  first  so  as  not  to  patch  any  part  that's 
going  to  be  cut  off  afterward." 

"Great  head !  But  I'm  afraid  them  patches  won't 
be  awful  ornamental." 


'5* 


Two  Little  Savages 

•'They're  all  right,"  was  the  reply.  "Indians' 
teepees  are  often  patched  where  bullets  and  arrows 
have  gone  through. " 

"Well,  I'm  glad  I  wa'n't  living  inside  during  them 
hostilities,"  and  Sam  exposed  a  dozen  or  more  holes. 

"Oh,  get  off  there  and  give  me  that  cord." 

"Look  out,"  said  Sam;  "that's  my  festered  knee. 
It's  near  as  bad  to-day  as  it  was  when  we  called  on 
the  witch. " 

Yan  was  measuring.  "Let's  see.  We  can  cut  off 
all  those  rags  and  still  make  a  twelve-foot  teepee. 
Twelve  foot  high — that  will  be  twenty-four  feet 
across  the  bottom  of  the  stuff.  Fine  !  That's  just  the 
thing.  Now  I'll  mark  her  off. " 

"Hold  on,  there,"  protested  his  friend;  "you  can't 
do  that  with  chalk.  Caleb  said  the  Injuns  used  a 
burnt  stick.  You  hain't  got  no  right  to  use  chalk. 
'You  might  as  well  hire  a  carpenter.' " 

"Oh,  you  go  on.  You  hunt  for  a  burnt  stick,  and 
if  you  don't  find  one  bring  me  the  shears  instead. " 

Thus,  with  many  consultations  of  Caleb's  draft,  the 
cutting-out  was  done — really  a  very  simple  matter. 
Then  the  patching  was  to  be  considered. 

Pack-thread,  needles  and  very  l-o-n-g  stitches  were 
used,  but  the  work  went  slowly  on.  All  the  spare 
time  of  one  day  was  given  to  patching.  Sam,  of 
course,  kept  up  a  patter  of  characteristic  remarks  to 
the  piece  he  was  sewing.  Yan  sewed  in  serious 
silence.  At  first  Sam's  were  put  on  better,  but  Yan 
learned  fast  and  at  length  did  by  far  the  better  sewing. 


DECORATION  OF  BLACK  BULL'S  TEEPEE:   (TWO  EXAMPLES  OF  DOORS) 


THUNDER  BULL'S  TEEPEE 


The  Making  of  the  Teepee 

That  night  the  boys  were  showing  their  handiwork 
to  the  hired  hands.  Si  Lee,  a  middle-aged  man  with 
a  vast  waistband,  after  looking  on  with  ill-concealed 
but  good-natured  scorn,  said: 

"Why  didn't  ye  put  the  patches  inside?" 

"Didn't  think  of  it,"  was  Yan's  answer. 

"  Coz  we're  goin*  to  live  inside,  an'  need  the  room,  " 
said  Sam. 

"Why  did  ye  make  ten  stitches  in  going  round  that 
hole;  ye  could  just  as  easy  have  done  it  in  four, "  and 
Si  sniffed  as  he  pointed  to  great,  ungainly  stitches  an 
inch  long.  "  I  call  that  waste  labour.  " 

"Now  see  here,"  blurted  Sam,  "if  you  don't  like 
our  work  let's  see  you  do  it  better.  There's  lots  to  do 
yet." 

"Where?" 

"Oh,  ask  Yan.  He's  bossin'  the  job.  Old  Caleb 
wouldn't  let  me  in.  It  just  broke  my  heart.  I 
sobbed  all  the  way  home,  didn't  I,  Yan? 

"There's  the  smoke-flaps  to  stitch  on  and  hem,  and 
the  pocket  at  the  top  of  the  flaps—and — I — suppose,  " 
Yan  added,  as  a  feeler,  "  it— 'would-— be— better — -if — 
hemmed — all — around.  " 

"Now,  I  tell  ye  what  I'll  do.  If  you  boys  '11  go  to 
the  '  Corner '  to-night  and  get  my  boots  that  the 
cobbler's  fixing,  I'll  sew  on  the  smoke-flaps." 

"I'll  take  that  offer,"  said  Yan;  "and  say,  Si,  it 
doesn't  really  matter  which  is  the  outside.  You  can 
turn  the  cover  so  the  patches  will  be  in. " 

The  boys  got  the  money  to  pay  for  the  boots,  and 

155 


Two  Little  Savages 

after  supper  they  set  out  on  foot  for  the  "Corner," 
two  miles  away. 

"He's  a  queer  duck,"  and  Sam  jerked  his  thumb 
back  to  show  that  he  meant  Si  Lee;  "sounds  like  a 
Chinese  laundry.  I  guess  that's  the  only  thing 
he  isn't.  He  can  do  any  mortal  thing  but  get  on  in 
life.  He's  been  a  soldier  an'  a  undertaker  an'  a  cook. 
He  plays  a  fiddle  he  made  himself;  it's  a  rotten  bad 
one,  but  it's  away  ahead  of  his  playing.  He  stuffs 
birds — that  Owl  in  the  parlour  is  his  doin' ;  he  tempers 
razors,  kin  doctor  a  horse  or  fix  up  a  watch,  an'  he 
does  it  in  about  the  same  way,  too;  bleeds  a  horse  no 
matter  what  ails  it,  an'  takes  another  wheel  out  o' 
the  watch  every  times  he  cleans  it.  He  took  Larry 
de  Neuville's  old  clock  apart  to  clean  once — said  he 
knew  all  about  it — an'  when  he  put  it  together  again 
he  had  wheels  enough  left  over  for  a  new  clock. 

"He's  too  smart  an'  not  smart  enough.  There  ain't 
anything  on  earth  he  can't  do  a  little,  an'  there  ain't 
a  blessed  thing  that  he  can  do  right  up  first-class, 
but  thank  goodness  sewing  canvas  is  his  long  suit. 
You  see  he  was  a  sailor  for  three  years — longest  time 
he  ever  kept  a  job,  fur  which  he  really  ain't  to  blame, 
since  it  was  a  whaler  on  a  three-years'  cruise. 


156 


VII 
The  Calm  Evening 

IT  was    a    calm   June    evening,    the   time  of   the 
second  daily  outburst  of   bird    song,  the  day's 
aftermath.     The  singers  seemed  to  be  in  unusual 
numbers    as    well.     Nearly   every    good    perch    had 
some  little  bird  that  seemed  near  bursting  with  joy 
and  yet  trying  to  avert  that  dire  catastrophe. 

As  the  boys  went  down  the  road  by  the  outer  fence  of 
their  own  orchard  a  Hawk  came  sailing  over,  silencing 
as  he  came  the  singing  within  a  given  radius.  Many 
of  the  singers  hid,  but  a  Meadow  Lark  that  had  been 
whistling  on  a  stake  in  the  open  was  now  vainly 
seeking  shelter  in  the  broad  field.  The  Hawk  was 
speeding  his  way.  The  Lark  dodged  and  put  on  all 
power  to  reach  the  orchard,  but  the  Hawk  was  after 
him  now — was  gaining — in  another  moment  would 
have  clutched  the  terrified  musician,  but  out  of  the 
Apple  trees  there  dashed  a  small  black-and-white  bird 
— the  Kingbird.  With  a  loud  harsh  twitter — his  war- 
cry — repeated  again  and  again,  with  his  little  gray 
head-feathers  raised  to  show  the  blood-and- flame- 
coloured  undercrest — his  war  colours — he  darted 
straight  at  the  great  robber. 

157 


Two  Little  Savages 

"Clicker-a-clicker,"  he  fairly  screamed,  and  made 
for  the  huge  Hawk,  ten  times  his  size. 

"Clicker-a-clicker !"  he  shrieked,  like  a  cateran 
shouting  the  "slogan,"  and  down  like  a  black-and- 
white  dart — to  strike  the  Hawk  fairly  between  the 
shoulders  just  as  the  Meadow  Lark  dropped  in  despair 
to  the  bare  ground  and  hid  its  head  from  the  approach 
ing  stroke  of  death. 

"Clicker-a-clicker" — and  the  Hawk  wheeled  in 
sudden  consternation.  "Clicker-a-clicker" — and  the 
dauntless  little  warrior  dropped  between  his  wings, 
stabbing  and  tearing. 

The  Hawk  bucked  like  a  mustang,  the  Kingbird 
was  thrown,  but  sprung  on  agile  pinions  above  again. 

"Clicker-a-clicker,"  and  he  struck  as  before. 
Large  brown  feathers  were  floating  away  on  the 
breeze  now.  The  Meadow  Lark  was  forgotten.  The 
Hawk  thought  only  of  escape. 

"Clicker-a-clicker,"  the  slogan  still  was  heard. 
The  Hawk  was  putting  on  all  speed  to  get  away,  but 
the  Kingbird  was  riding  him  most  of  the  time. 
Several  brown  feathers  floated  down,  the  Hawk 
dwindled  in  the  distance  to  a  Sparrow  and  the  King 
bird  to  a  fly  dancing  on  his  back.  The  Hawk  made  a 
final  plunge  into  a  thicket,  and  the  king  came  home 
again,  uttering  the  shrill  war-cry  once  or  twice, 
probably  to  let  the  queen  know  that  he  was  coming 
back,  for  she  flew  to  a  high  branch  of  the  Apple  tree 
where  she  could  greet  the  returning  hero.  He  came 
with  an  occasional  "  clicker-a-clicker " — then,  when 

IS* 


Clicker-a-clicker  !  '  he  shrieked      .      .      .      and  down  like  a  dart 


The  Calm  Evening 

near  her,  he  sprung  fifty  feet  in  the  air  and  dashed 
down,  screaming  his  slogan  without  interruption, 
darting  zigzag  with  the  most  surprising  evolutions 
and  turns — this  way,  that  way,  sideways  and  down 
ward,  dealing  the  deadliest  blows  right  and  left  at  an 
imaginary  foe,  then  soared,  and  did  it  all  over  again 
two  or  three  times,  just  to  show  how  far  he  was  from 
being  tired,  and  how  much  better  he  could  have  done 
it  had  it  been  necessary.  Then  with  a  final  swoop 
and  a  volley  of  "clickers"  he  dashed  into  the  bush 
to  receive  the  congratulations  of  the  one  for  whom  it 
all  was  meant  and  the  only  spectator  for  whose 
opinion  he  cared  in  the  least. 

"Now,  ain't  that  great,"  said  Sam,  with  evident 
sincerity  and  pleasure.  His  voice  startled  Yan 
and  brought  him  back.  He  had  been  wholly  lost 
in  silent  admiring  wonder  of  the  dauntless  little 
Kingbird. 

A  Vesper  Sparrow  ran  along  the  road  before  them, 
flitting  a  few  feet  ahead  each  time  they  overtook  it 
and  showing  the  white  outer  tail-feathers  as  it  flew. 

"A  little  Gray  bird,"  remarked  Sam. 

"No,  that  isn't  a  Graybird;  that's  a  Vesper 
Sparrow,"  exclaimed  Yan,  in  surprise,  for  he  knew 
he  was  right. 

"Well,  /  dunno,"  said  Sam,  yielding  the  point. 

"  I  thought  you  said  you  knew  every  bird  that 
flies  and  all  about  it,"  replied  his  companion,  for  the 
memory  of  this  first  day  was  strong  with  him  yet. 

Sam  snorted:     "I  didn't  know  you  then.     I  was 


Two  Little  Savages 

just  loadin'  you  up  so  you'd  think  I  was  a  wonderful 
feller,  an'  you  did,  too — for  awhile. " 

A  Red-headed  Woodpecker,  carrying  a  yellow 
butterfly,  flew  on  a  fence  stake  ahead  of  them  and 
peeped  around  as  they  drew  near.  The  setting  sun 
on  his  bright  plumage,  the  lilac  stake  and  the  yellow 
butterfly,  completed  a  most  gorgeous  bit  of  colour 
and  gave  Yan  a  thrill  of  joy.  A  Meadow  Lark  on  a 
farther  stake,  a  Bluebird  on  another,  and  a  Vesper 
Bird  on  a  stone,  each  added  his  appeal  to  eye  and 
ear,  till  Sam  exclaimed: 

"Oh,  ain't  that  awful  nice?"  and  Yan  was  dumb 
with  a  sort  of  saddened  joy. 

Birds  hate  the  wind,  and  this  was  one  of  those 
birdy  days  that  come  only  with  a  dead  calm. 

They  passed  a  barn  with  two  hundred  pairs  of 
Swallows  flying  and  twittering  around,  a  cut  bank 
of  the  road  had  a  colony  of  1,000  Sand  Martins,  a 
stream  had  its  rattling  Kingfishers,  and  a  marsh 
was  the  playground  of  a  multitude  of  Red-winged 
Blackbirds. 

Yan  was  lifted  up  with  the  joy  of  the  naturalist  at 
seeing  so  many  beautiful  living  things.  Sam  felt  it, 
too;  he  grew  very  silent,  and  the  last  half-mile  to  the 
"  Corner  "  was  passed  without  a  word.  The  boots  were 
got.  Sam  swung  them  around  his  neck  and  the  boys 
set  out  for  home.  The  sun  was  gone,  but  not  the 
birds,  and  the  spell  of  the  evening  was  on  them  still. 
A  Song  Sparrow  by  the  brook  and  a  Robin  high  in  the 
Elm  were  yet  pouring  out  their  liquid  notes  in  the 
gloaming. 

162 


The  Calm  Evening 

"I  wish  I  could  be  always  here,"  said  Yan,  but  he 
started  a  little  when  he  remembered  how  unwilling  he 
had  been  to  come. 

There  was  a  long  silence  as  they  lingered  on  the 
darkening  road.  Each  was  thinking  hard. 

A  loud,  startling  but  soft  "Ohoo  —  O-hoo  — 
O-hoooooo,"  like  the  coo  of  a  giant  dove,  now 
sounded  about  their  heads  in  a  tree.  They  stopped 
and  Sam  whispered,  "Owl;  big  Hoot  Owl."  Yan's 
heart  leaped  with  pleasure.  He  had  read  all  his  life  of 
Owls,  and  even  had  seen  them  alive  in  cages,  but  this 
was  the  first  time  he  had  ever  heard  the  famous 
hooting  of  the  real  live  wild  Owl,  and  it  was  a 
delicious  experience. 

The  night  was  quite  dark  now,  but  there  were 
plenty  of  sounds  that  told  of  life.  A  Whippoorwill 
was  chanting  in  the  woods,  a  hundred  Toads  and 
Frogs  creaked  and  trilled,  a  strange  rolling,  laughing 
cry  on  a  marshy  pond  puzzled  them  both,  then  a 
Song  Sparrow  in  the  black  night  of  a  dense  thicket 
poured  forth  its  sweet  little  sunshine  song  with  all  the 
vigour  and  joy  of  its  best  daytime  doing. 

They  listened  attentively  for  a  repetition  of  the 
serenade,  when  a  high-pitched  but  not  loud  "  Wa — wa 
— wa — wa — wa — wa — wa — ii'a!"  reached  their  ears 
from  a  grove  of  heavy  timbers. 

"Hear  that?"  exclaimed  Sam. 

Again  it  came,  a  quavering  squall,  apparently 
much  nearer.  It  was  a  rather  shrill  sound,  quite 
unbirdy,  and  Sam  whispered: 


Crow 


Cree 


Dftii* 


Two  Little  Savages 

"Coon — that's  the  whicker  of  a  Coon.  We  can 
come  down  here  some  time  when  corn's  'in  roastin' ' 
an'  have  a  Coon  hunt. " 

"Oh,  Sam,  wouldn't  that  be  glorious!"  said  Yan. 
"How  I  wish  it  was  now.  I  never  saw  a  Coon  hunt 
or  any  kind  of  a  hunt.  Do  we  have  to  wait  till 
'roasting-ear'  time?" 

"Oh,  yes;  it's  easier  to  find  them  then.  You  say 
to  your  Coons,  'Me  an'  me  dogs  will  meet  you 
to-night  at  the  nearest  roastin'-ear  patch,'  an'  sure 
nuff  they'll  keep  the  appointment." 

"But  they're  around  now,  for  we  just  heard  one, 
and  there's  another." 

A  long  faint  "  Lil — HI — HI — HI — HI — li-looo!"  now 
sounded  from  the  trees.  It  was  like  the  other,  but 
much  softer  and  sweeter. 

"There's  where  you  fool  yerself, "  replied  Sam,  "  an' 
there's  where  many  a  hunter  is  fooled.  That  last 
one's  the  call  of  a  Screech  Owl.  You  see  it's  softer 
and  whistlier  than  the  Coon  whicker.  " 

They  heard  it  again  and  again  from  the  trees.  It 
was  a  sweet  musical  sound,  and  Yan  remembered  how 
squally  the  Coon  call  was  in  comparison,  and  yet 
many  hunters  never  learn  the  difference. 

As  they  came  near  the  tree  whence  the  Owl  called  at 
intervals,  a  gray  blot  went  over  their  heads,  shutting 
out  a  handful  of  stars  for  a  moment  as  it  passed  over 
them,  but  making  no  noise.  "There  he  goes," 
whispered  Sam.  "That's  the  Screech  Owl.  Not 
much  of  a  screech,  was  it?"  Not  long  afterward 


The  Calm  Evening: 

Yan  came  across  a  line  of  Lowell's  which  says,  "  The 
song  of  the  Screech  Owl  is  the  sweetest  sound  in 
nature,"  and  appreciated  the  absurdity  of  the  name. 

"I  want  to  go  on  a  Coon  hunt,"  continued  Yan, 
and  the  sentence  was  just  tinged  with  the  deep-laid 
doggedness  that  was  usually  lost  in  his  courteous 
manner. 

"That  settles  it,"  answered  the  other,  for  he  was 
learning  what  that  tone  meant.  "We'll  surely  go 
when  you  talk  that  way,  for,  of  coorse,  it  kin  be  done. 
You  see,  I  know  more  about  animals  than  birds/'  he 
continued.  "I'm  just  as  likely  to  be  a  dentist  as  a 
hunter  so  far  as  serious  business  is  concerned,  but  I'd 
sure  love  to  be  a  hunter  for  awhile,  an'  I  made  Da 
promise  to  go  with  me  some  time.  Maybe  we  kin  get 
a  Deer  by  going  back  ten  miles  to  the  Long  Swamp. 
I  only  wish  Da  and  Old  Caleb  hadn't  fought,  'cause 
Caleb  sure  knows  the  woods,  an'  that  old  Hound  of  his 
has  treed  more  Coons  than  ye  could  shake  a  stick  at 
in  a  month  o'  Sundays. " 

"Well,  if  that's  the  only  Coon  dog  around,  I'm 
going  to  get  him.  You'll  see, "  was  the  reply. 

"I  believe  you  will,"  answered  Sam,  in  a  tone  of 
mixed  admiration  and  amusement. 

It  was  ten  o'clock  when  they  got  home,  and  every 
one  was  in  bed  but  Mr.  Raften.  The  boys  turned  in 
at  once,  but  next  morning,  on  going  to  the  barn,  they 
found  that  Si  had  not  only  sewed  on  and  hemmed 
the  smoke-flaps,  but  had  resewn  the  worst  of  the 
patches  and  hemmed  the  whole  bottom  of  the  teepee 

165 


Two  Little  Savages 

cover  with  a  small  rope  in  the  hem,  so  that  they  were 
ready  now  for  the  pins  and  poles. 

The  cover  was  taken  at  once  to  the  camp  ground. 
Yan  carried  the  axe.  When  they  came  to  the  brush 
fence  over  the  creek  at  the  edge  of  the  swamp,  he 
said: 

"Sam,  I  want  to  blaze  that  trail  for  old  Caleb. 
How  do  you  do  it?" 

"Spot  the  trees  with  the  axe  every  few  yards." 

"This  way?"  and  Yan  cut  a  tree  in  three  places, 
so  as  to  show  three  white  spots  or  blazes. 

11  No;  that's  a  trapper's  blaze  for  a  trap  or  a  'special 
blaze,'  but  a  'road  blaze'  is  one  on  the  front  of  the 
tree  and  one  on  the  back — so — then  ye  can  run  the 
trail  both  ways,  an'  you  put  them  thicker  if  it's  to 
be  followed  at  night. 


166 


VIII 
The  Sacred  Fire 

TEN  strong  poles  and  two  long  thin  ones,"  said 
Yan,  reading  off.  These  were  soon  cut  and 
brought  to  the  camp  ground. 

"Tie  them  together  about  eighteen  inches  higher 
than  the  teepee  cover " 

"  Tie  them  ?     With  what  ? " 

"  'Rawhide  rope,'  he  said,  but  he  also  said  'Make 
the  cover  of  skins.'  I'm  afraid  we  shall  have  to  use 
common  rope  for  the  present,"  and  Yan  looked 
a  little  ashamed  of  the  admission. 

"I  reckoned  so,"  drawled  Sam,  "and  so  I  put  a 
coil  of  quarter-inch  in  the  cover,  but  I  didn't  dare 
to  tell  you  that  up  at  the  barn." 

The  tripod  was  firmly  lashed  with  the  rope  and  set 
up.  Nine  poles  were  duly  leaned  around  in  a  twelve- 
foot  circle,  for  a  teepee  twelve  feet  high  usually  has 
a  twelve-foot  base.  A  final  lashing  of  the  ropes 
held  these,  and  the  last  pole  was  then  put  up  oppo 
site  to  the  door,  with  the  teepee  cover  tied  to  it  at 
the  point  between  the  flaps.  The  ends  of  the  two 
smoke -poles  carried  the  cover  round.  Then  the 
lacing-pins  were  needed.  Yan  tried  to  make  them 
of  Hickory  shoots,  but  the  large,  soft  pith  came  just 


Two  Little  Savages 

where  the  point  was  needed.  So  Sam  said,  "You 
can't  beat  White  Oak  for  pins."  He  cut  a  block 
of  White  Oak,  split  it  down  the  middle,  then  split 
half  of  it  in  the  middle  again,  and  so  on  till  it  was 
small  enough  to  trim  and  finish  with  his  knife. 
Meanwhile  Yan  took  the  axe  to  split  another,  but 
found  that  it  ran  off  to  one  side  instead  of  going 
straight  down  the  grain. 

"  No  good,"  was  Sam's  comment.  "  You  must  keep 
halving  each  time  or  it  will  run  out  toward  the 
thin  pieces.  You  want  to  split  shingles  all  winter 
to  larn  that." 

Ten  pins  were  made  eight  inches  long  and  a  quarter 
of  an  inch  thick.  They  were  used  just  like  dress 
makers'  stickpins,  only  the  holes  had  to  be  made 
first,  and,  of  course,  they  looked  better  for  being 
regular.  Thus  the  cover  was  laced  on.  The  lack 
of  ground-pegs  was  then  seen. 

"You  make  ten  Oak  pins  a  foot  long  and  an  inch 
square,  Sam.  I've  a  notion  how  to  fix  them."  Then 
Yan  cut  ten  pieces  of  the  rope,  each  two  feet  long, 
and  made  a  hole  about  every  three  feet  around  the 
base  of  the  cover  above  the  rope  in  the  outer  seam. 
He  passed  one  end  of  each  short  rope  through  this 
and  knotted  it  to  the  other  end.  Thus  he  had  ten 
peg-loops,  and  the  teepee  was  fastened  down  and 
looked  like  a  glorious  success. 

Now  came  the  grand  ceremony  of  all,  the  lighting 
of  the  first  fire.  The  boys  felt  it  to  be  a  supreme 
and  almost  a  religious  moment.  It  is  curious  to  note 

168 


The  Sacred  Fire 

that  they  felt  very  much  as  savages  do  under  the 
same  circumstances — that  the  setting  up  of  the  new 
teepee  and  lighting  its  first  fire  is  an  act  of  deep 
significance,  and  to  be  done  only  with  proper  regard 
for  its  future  good  luck. 

"  Better  go  slow  and  sure  about  that  fire.  It'd 
be  awfully  unlucky  to  have  it  fizzle  for  the  first 
time." 

"That's  so,"  replied  Yan,  with  the  same  sort  of 
superstitious  dread.  "Say,  Sam,  if  we  could  really 
light  it  with  rubbing-sticks,  wouldn't  it  be  great?" 

"Hallo!" 

The  boys  turned,  and  there  was  Caleb  close  to 
them.  He  came  over  and  nodded.  "Got  yer 
teepee,  I  see?  Not  bad,  but  what  did  ye  face  her 
to  the  west  fur?" 

"Fronting  the  creek,"  explained  Yan. 

"I  forgot  to  tell  ye,"  said  Caleb,  "an  Injun  teepee 
always  fronts  the  east;  first,  that  gives  the  morning 
sun  inside;  next,  the  most  wind  is  from  the  west,  so 
the  smoke  is  bound  to  draw." 

"And  what  if  the  wind  is  right  due  east?"  asked 
Sam,  "which  it  surely  will  be  when  it  rains?" 

"And  when  the  wind's  east,"  continued  Caleb, 
addressing  no  one  in  particular,  and  not  as  though 
in  answer  to  a  question,  "ye  lap  the  flaps  across 
each  other  tight  in  front,  so,"  and  he  crossed  his 
hands  over  his  chest.  "That  leaves  the  east  side 
high  and  shuts  out  the  rain;  if  it  don't  draw  then, 
ye  raise  the  bottom  of  the  cover  under  the  door  just 

169 


v^ 


Two  Little  Savages 

a  little — that  always  fetches  her.  An'  when  you 
change  her  round  don't  put  her  in  under  them 
trees.  Trees  is  dangerous;  in  a  storm  they  draw 
lightning,  an'  branches  fall  from  them,  an'  after  rain 
they  keep  on  dripping  for  an  hour.  Ye  need  all  the 
sun  ye  kin  get  on  a  teepee. 

"Did  you  ever  see  Indians  bring  fire  out  of  two 
sticks  by  rubbing,  Mr.  Clark?" 

"Oh,  yes.  Most  of  the  Injuns  now  carry  matches, 
but  in  the  early  days  I  seen  it  done  often  enough." 

"Does  it  take  long?     Is  it  hard?" 

"Not  so  long,  and  it's  easy  enough,  when  ye  know 
how. ' ' 

"My!  I'd  rather  bring  fire  out  of  two  sticks  than 
have  a  ten  dollar  bill,"  said  Yan,  with  enthusiasm 
that  meant  much,  for  one  dollar  was  his  high -water 
mark  of  affluence,  and  this  he  had  reached  but  once 
in  his  life. 

"Oh,  I  dunno';  that  depends,"  was  Sam's  more 
guarded  response. 

"Can  you  do  it?"  asked  Yan. 

"Wall,  yes,  if  I  kin  get  the  right  stuff.  Ye  see,  it 
ain't  every  wood  that  will  do  it.  It's  got  to  be  jest 
right.  The  Plains  Injuns  use  Cottonwood  root,  an' 
the  Mountain  Injuns  use  Sage-brush  root.  I've  seen 
the  Canadian  Injuns  use  Basswood,  Cedar  and  dry 
White  Pine,  but  the  Chippewas  mostly  use  Balsam 
Fir.  The  easiest  way  is  with  a  bow-drill.  Have  ye 
any  buckskin?" 

"No." 


170 


The  Sacred  Fire 


"Or  a  strip  o'  soft  leather?" 

"I've  got  a  leather  shoe-lace,"  said  Yan. 

"Rather  slim;  but  we'll  double  it  an'  make  it  do. 
A  cord  will  answer,  but  it  frays  out  so  soon." 
Caleb  took  the  lace  and  the  axe,  then  said,  "  Find  me 
a  stone  'bout  the  size  of  an  egg,  with  a  little  hole  into 
it — like  a  socket  hole — 'bout  a  quarter  inch  deep." 

The  boys  went  to  the  creek  to  seek  a  stone  and 
Caleb  went  into  the  woods. 

They  heard  him  chopping,  and  presently  he  came 
back  with  a  flat  piece  of  very  dry  Balsam  Fir,  a 
fifteen-inch  pin  of  the  same,  a  stick  about  three  feet 
long,  slightly  bent,  some  dry  Pine  punk  and  some 
dry  Cedar. 

The  pin  was  three-quarters  of  an  inch  thick  and 
was  roughly  eight -sided,  "so  the  lace  would  grip." 
It  was  pointed  at  both  ends.  He  fastened  the  lace 
to  the  bent  stick  like  a  bow-string,  but  loosely,  so 
that  when  it  had  one  turn  around  the  pin  it  was 
quite  tight.  The  flat  piece  of  Balsam  he  trimmed 
down  to  about  half  an  inch  thick.  In  the  edge  of 
this  he  now  cut  a  notch  one-quarter  inch  wide  and 
half  an  inch  deep,  then  on  the  top  of  this  fire-board 
or  block,  just  beyond  the  notch,  he  made  with  the 
point  of  his  knife  a  little  pit. 

He  next  scraped  and  shredded  a  lot  of  dry  Cedar 
wood  like  lint.  Then  making  a  hole  half  an  inch 
deep  in  the  ground,  he  laid  in  that  a  flat  piece  of 
Pine  punk,  and  across  this  he  set  the  fire-board. 
The  point  of  the  pin  or  drill  was  put  in  the  pit  of 


171 


Two  Little  Savages 

the  fire-board,  which  he  held  down  with  one  foot; 
the  lace  was  given  one  turn  on  the  pin,  and  its  top 
went  into  the  hole  of  the  stone  the  boys  brought. 
The  stone  was  held  firmly  in  Caleb's  left  hand. 

" Sometimes,"  he  remarked,  "when  ye  .  can't 
find  a  stone,  a  Pine  knot  will  do — ye  kin  make  the 
socket-hole  with  a  knife-point." 

Now  holding  the  bow  in  his  right  hand,  he  began 
to  draw  it  back  and  forth  with  long,  steady  strokes, 
causing  the  pin  to  whirl  round  in  the  socket.  Within 
a  few  seconds  a  brown  powder  began  to  run  out  of 
the  notch  of  the  fire-board  onto  the  punk.  The 
pit  increased  in  size  and  blackened,  the  powder 
darkened,  and  a  slight  smoke  arose  from  the  pit. 
Caleb  increased  the  pressure  of  his  left  hand  a  little, 
and  sawed  faster  with  the  right.  The  smoke  steadily 
increased  and  the  black  powder  began  to  fill  the  notch. 
The  smoke  was  rolling  in  little  clouds  from  under 
the  pin,  and  it  even  seemed  to  come  from  the  heap 
of  powder.  As  soon  as  he  saw  that,  Caleb  dropped 
the  bow  and  gently  fanned  the  powder  heap.  It 
still  smoked.  He  removed  the  fire-board,  and  lifting 
the  punk,  showed  the  interior  of  the  powder  to  be 
one  glowing  coal.  On  this  he  laid  the  Cedar  tinder 
and  over  that  a  second  piece  of  punk.  Then  raising 
it,  he  waved  it  in  the  air  and  'blew  gently  for  awhile. 
It  smouldered  and  then  burst  into  a  flame.  The 
other  material  was  handy,  and  in  a  very  short  time 
they  had  a  blazing  fire  in  the  middle  of  the  new 
teepee. 

172 


The  Sacred  Fire 

All  three  were  pictures  of  childish  delight.  The 
old  man's  face  fairly  beamed  with  triumph.  Had 
he  failed  in  his  experiment  he  would  have  gone  off 
hating  those  boys,  but  having  made  a  brilliant 
success  he  was  ready  to  love  every  one  concerned, 
though  they  had  been  nothing  more  than  interested 
spectators  of  his  exploit. 


RUBBING-STICKS— FOR  FIRE-MAKING     (See  plate  opposite) 
Two  tools  and  two  sticks  are  needed.    The  tools  are  bow  and  drill-socket ;  the  sticks  are  drill  and  fire-board. 

1.  The  simplest  kind  of  bow— a  bent  stick  with  a  stout  leather  thong  fastened  at  each  end.     The  stick  must  not 
spring.     It  is  about  27  inches  long  and  %  inch  thick. 

2.  A  more  elaborate  bow  with  a  hole  at  each  end  for  the  thong.    At  the  handle  end  it  goes  through  a  disc  of  wood. 
This  is  to  tighten  the  thong  by  pressure  of  the  hand  against  the  disc  while  using. 

3.  Simplest  kind  of  drill-socket— a  pine  or  hemlock  knot  with  a  shallow  hole  or  pit  in  it.    za  is  under  view  of  same. 
It  is  about  4%  inches  long. 

4.  A  more  elaborate  drill-socket— a  pebble  cemented  with  gum  in  a  wooden  holder.    v*  is  under  view  of  same. 

5.  A  very  elaborate  drill-socket ;  it  is  made  of  tulip  wood,  carved  to  represent  the  Thunderbird.    It  has  eyes  of 
green  felspar  cemented  in  with  resin.    On  the  under  side  ($a)  is  seen,  in  the  middle,  a  soapstone  socket  let  into 
the  wood  and  fastened  with  pine  gum,  and  on  the  head  a  hole  kept  filled  with  grease,  to  grease  the  top  of  the 
drill  before  use. 

6.  The  drill,  12  to  18  inches  long  and  about  H  of  an  inch  thick  ;  it  is  roughly  8-sided  so  the  thong  will  not  slip,  and 
pointed  at  each  end.    The  best  wood  for  the  drill  is  old,  dry,  brash,  but  not  punky  balsam  fir  or  cotton-wood 
roots  ;  but  basswood,  white  cedar,  red  cedar,  tamarack,  and  sometimes  even  white  pine,  will  do. 

7.  Fire-board  or  block,   about  M  of  an  inch  thick  and  any  length   handy ;  a  is  notch  with  pit  just  begun,  b 
shows  the  pit  after  once  using  and  in  good  trim  for  a  second  time ;  c  shows  the  pit  bored  through  and  now 
useless  ;  the  notch  is  ^  inch  wide  and  %  inch  deep. 

8.  Shows  the  way  of  using  the  sticks.    The  block  (a)  is  held  down  with  one  foot,  the  end  of  the  drill  (b)  is  put 
in  the  pit,  the  drill-socket  (c)  is  held  on  top  in  left  hand,  one  end  of  the  bow  (d)  is  held  in  the  right  hand,  while 
the  bow  is  drawn  back  and  forth. 

g.    Is  a  little  wooden  fire-pan,  not  essential  but  convenient;  its  thin  edge  is  put  under  the  notch  to  catch  the 
powder  that  falls. 

175 


IX 
The  Bows  and  Arrows 

I  DON'T  think  much  of  your  artillery,"  said  Yan 
one  day  as  they  were  shooting  in  the  orchard 
with  Sam's  "Western  outfit."  "It's  about  like 
the  first  one  I  made  when  I  was  young." 

"Well,  grandpa,  let's  see  your  up-to-date  make ?" 

"It'd  be  about  five  times  as  strong,  for  one  thing." 

"You  couldn't  pull  it." 

1 '  Not  the  way  you  hold  the  arrow !  But  last 
winter  I  got  a  book  about  archery  from  the  library 
and  learned  something  worth  while.  You  pinch 
the  arrow  that  way  and  you  can  draw  six  or  eight 
pounds,  maybe,  but  you  hook  your  fingers  in  the 
string — so — and  you  can  draw  five  times  as  much, 
and  that's  the  right  way  to  shoot." 

"Feels  mighty  clumsy,"  said  Sam,  trying  it. 

"Of  course  it  does  at  first,  and  you  have  to  have 
a  deep  notch  in  the  arrow  or  you  can't  do  it  at  all." 

"You  don't  seem  to  manage  any  better  than  I 
do." 

"First  time  I  ever  had  a  chance  to  try  since  I 
read  about  it.  But  I  want  to  make  a  first-class 
bow  and  a  lot  of  arrows.  It's  not  much  good  going 
with  one." 


The  Bows  and  Arrows 

"Well,  go  ahead  an'  make  an  outfit  if  you  know 
how.  What's  the  best  wood?  Did  the  book  tell 
you  that?" 

"The  best  wood  is  Spanish  Yew." 

"Don't  know  it." 

"An'  the  next  is  Oregon  Yew." 

"Nope." 

"Then  Lancewood  and  Osage  Orange." 

"Try   again." 

"Well,  Red  Cedar,  Apple  tree,  Hickory  and  Elm 
seem  to  be  the  only  ones  that  grow  around  here. " 

"  Hain't  seen  any  Red  Cedar,  but  the  rest  is  easy.  " 

"  It  has  to  be  thoroughly  seasoned  winter-cut  wood, 
and  cut  so  as  to  have  heart  on  one  side  and  sap  wood 
on  the  other. " 

"How's  that?"  and  Sam  pointed  to  a  lot  of  half- 
round  Hickory  sticks  on  the  rafters  of  the  log  house. 
"Those  have  been  there  a  couple  of  years." 

A  good  one  of  five  feet  long  was  selected  and  split 
and  hewn  with  the  axe  till  the  boys  had  the  two  bow 
staves,  five  and  one-half  feet  long  and  two  inches 
square,  with  the  line  of  the  heart  and  sap  wood  down 
the  middle  of  each. 

Guided  by  his  memory  of  that  precious  book  and 
some  English  long  bows  that  he  had  seen  in  a  shop  in 
town,  Yan  superintended  the  manufacture.  Sam 
was  apt  with  tools,  and  in  time  they  finished  two  bows, 
five  feet  long  and  drawing  possibly  twenty-five  pounds 
each.  In  the  middle  they  were  one  and  one-half 
inches  wide  and  an  inch  thick  (see  page  183).  This 

177 


Two  Little  Savages 

size  they  kept  for  nine  inches  each  way,  making  an 
eighteen-inch  middle  part  that  did  not  bend,  but 
their  two  limbs  were  shaved  down  and  scraped  with 
glass  till  they  bent  evenly  and  were  well  within  the 
boys'  strength. 

The  string  was  the  next  difficulty.  All  the  ordinary 
string  they  could  get  around  the  house  proved  too 
weak,  never  lasting  more  than  two  or  three  shots,  till 
Si  Lee,  seeing  their  trouble,  sent  them  to  the  cobbler's 
for  a  hank  of  unbleached  linen  thread  and  some  shoe 
maker's  wax.  Of  this  thread  he  reeled  enough  for  a 
strong  cord  tight  around  two  pegs  seven  feet  apart, 
then  cutting  it  loose  at  one  end  he  divided  it  equally 
in  three  parts,  and,  after  slight  waxing,  he  loosely 
plaited  them  together.  At  Yan's  suggestion  he  then 
spliced  a  loop  at  one  end,  and  with  a  fine  waxed 
thread  lashed  six  inches  of  the  middle  where  the 
arrow  fitted,  as  well  as  the  splice  of  the  loop. 
This  last  enabled  them  to  unstring  the  bow  when 
not  in  use  (see  page  183).  "There,"  said  he,  "you 
won't  break  that."  The  finishing  touch  was  thinly 
coating  the  bows  with  some  varnish  found  among  the 
paint  supplies. 

"Makes  my  old  bow  look  purty  sick,"  remarked 
Sam,  as  he  held  up  the  really  fine  new  weapon  in 
contrast  with  the  wretched  little  hoop  that  had 
embodied  his  early  ideas.  "Now  what  do  you  know 
about  arrers,  mister?"  as  he  tried  his  old  arrow  in  the 
new  bow. 

"  I  know  that  that's  no  good,"  was  the  reply;  "an' 


The  Bows  and  Arrows 

I  can  tell  you  that  it's  a  deal  harder  to  make  an  arrow 
than  a  bow — that  is,  a  good  one. " 

"That's  encouraging,  considering  the  trouble  we've 
had  already." 

"  'Tisn't  meant  to  be,  but  we  ought  to  have  a  dozen 
arrows  each." 

"  How  do  the  Injuns  make  them  ? " 

"  Mostly  they  get  straight  sticks  of  the  Arrow- 
wood;  but  I  haven't  seen  any  Arrow-wood  here, 
and  they're  not  so  awfully  straight.  You  see,  an 
arrow  must  be  straight  or  it'll  fly  crooked.  'Straight 
as  an  arrow'  means  the  thing  itself.  We  can  do 
better  than  the  Indians  'cause  we  have  better 
tools.  We  can  split  them  out  of  the  solid  wood." 

"  What  wood  ?  Some  bloomin'  foreign  kind  that  no 
White-man  never  saw  nor  heard  of  before  ? " 

"No  sir-ree.  There  ain't  anything  better  'n  White 
Pine  for  target  and  Ash  or  Hickory  for  hunting 
arrows.  Which  are  we  making?" 

"I'm  a  hunter.  Give  me  huntin'  arrows  every 
time.  What's  needed  next  ?" 

"Seasoned  Ash  twenty-five  inches  long,  split  to 
three-eighths  of  an  inch  thick,  hot  glue,  and  turkey- 
wing  feathers." 

"I'll  get  the  feathers  and  let  you  do  the  rest, "  said 
Sam,  producing  a  bundle  of  turkey-wings,  laid  away 
as  stove-dusters,  and  then  belied  his  own  statement 
by  getting  a  block  of  Ash  and  splitting  it  up,  halving 
it  each  time  till  he  had  a  pile  of  two  dozen  straight 
sticks  about  three-quarters  of  an  inch  thick. 

179 


Two  Little  Savages 


Yan  took  one  and  began  with  his  knife  to  whittle  it 
down  to  proper  size  and  shape,  but  Sam  said,  "  I  can 
do  better  than  that,"  then  took  the  lot  to  the  work 
bench  and  set  to  work  with  a  smoothing  plane.  Yan 
looked  worried  and  finally  said: 

"Injuns  didn't  have  planes." 

"Nor  jack-knives  neither,"  was  'the  retort. 

That  was  true,  and  yet  somehow  Yan's  ideal  that 
he  hankered  after  was  the  pre-Columbian  Indian,  the 
one  who  had  no  White-man's  help  or  tools. 

"  It  seems  to  me  it'd  be  more  Injun  to  make  these 
with  just  what  we  get  in  the  woods.  The  Injuns 
didn't  have  jack-knives,  but  they  had  sharp  flints  in 
the  old  days." 

"Yan,  you  go  ahead  with  a  sharp  stone.  You'll 
find  lots  on  the  road  if  you  take  off  your  shoes  and 
walk  barefoot — awful  sharp;  an'  I'll  go  ahead  with 
the  smoothing  plane  an'  see  who  wins." 

Yan  was  not  satisfied,  but  he  contented  himself 
with  promising  that  he  would  some  day  make  some 
arrows  of  Arrow-wood  shoots  and  now  he  would  finish 
at  least  one  with  his  knife.  He  did  so,  but  Sam, 
in  the  meantime,  made  six  much  better  ones  with 
the  smoothing  plane. 

"  What  about  heads  ? "  said  he. 

"I've -been  thinking,"  was  the  reply.  "Of  course 
the  Indians  used  stone  heads  fastened  on  with  sinew, 
but  we  haven't  got  the  stuff  to  do  that.  Bought 
heads  of  iron  with  a  ferrule  for  the  end  of  the  arrow 
are  best,  but  we  can't  get  them.  Bone  heads  and 


180 


SIX  SAMPLE  ARROWS,   SHOWING  DIFFERENT  FEATHERS 


The  Bows  and  Arrows 

horn  heads  will  do.  I  made  some  fine  ones  once  filing 
bones  into  the  shape,  but  they  were  awfully  brittle; 
and  I  made  some  more  of  big  nails  cut  off  and  set  in 
with  a  lashing  of  fine  wire  around  the  end  to  stop  the 
wood  splitting.  Some  Indian  arrows  have  no  point 
but  the  stick  sharpened  after  it's  scorched  to 
harden  it." 

"That  sounds  easy  enough  for  me,"  said  Sam; 
"let's  make  some  of  them  that  way. " 

So  the  arrows  were  made,  six  each  with  nail  points 
filed  sharp  and  lashed  with  broom  wire.  These  were 
called  "War  arrows,  "  and  six  each  with  fire-hardened 
wood  points  for  hunting  arrows. 

"Now  for  the  feathering,"  and  Yan  showed  Sam 
how  to  split  the  midrib  of  a  turkey  feather  and 
separate  the  vane. 

"Le's  see,  you  want  twice  twenty-four — that's 
forty-eight  feathers." 

"No,"  said  Yan,  "that's  a  poor  feathering,  two  on 
each.  We  want  three  on  each  arrow — seventy- 
two  strips  in  all,  and  mind  you,  we  want  all  three 
that  are  on  one  arrow  from  the  same  side  of 
the  bird." 

"I  know.  I'll  bet  it's  bad  luck  to  mix  sides; 
arrows  doesn't  know  which  way  to  turn. " 

At  this  moment  Si  Lee  came  in.  "How  are  ye 
gettin'  on  with  the  bows?" 

"Waitin'  for  arrows  now." 

"How  do  ye  put  on  the  feathers?" 

"White-men  glue  them  on,  and  Injuns  lash  them 

181 


DESCRIPTION  OF  SIX  SAMPLE  ARROWS  SHOWING  DIFFERENT  FEATHERS 

A  is  a  far-flying  steel-pointed  bobtail,  very  good  in  wind.  B  is  another  very  good  arrow,  with  a  horn  point. 
This  went  even  better  than  A  if  there  were  no  wind.  C  is  an  Omaha  war  and  deer  arrow.  Both  heads  and  feathers 
are  lashed  on  with  sinew.  The  long  tufts  of  down  left  on  the  feathers  are  to  help  in  finding  it  again,  as  they  are 
snow-white  and  wave  in  the  breeze.  The  grooves  on  the  shaft  are  to  make  the  victim  bleed  more  freely  and  be 
more  easily  tracked.  D  is  another  Omaha  arrow  with  a  peculiar  owner's  mark  of  rings  carved  in  the  middle.  E  is 
a  bone-headed  bird  shaft  made  by  the  Indians  of  the  Mackenzie  River.  F  is  a  war  arrow  made  by  Geronimo  the 
famous  Apache  chief .  Its  shaft  is  three  joints  of  a  straight  cane.  The  tip  is  of  hard  wood,  and  on  that  is  a' fine 
quartz  point;  all  being  lashed  together  with  sinew. 


Two  Little  Savages 

on,"  replied  Yan,  quoting  from  memory  from  "that 
book. " 

"Which  is  best?" 

"Glued  on  flies  better,  but  lashed  on  stands  the 
weather  better. " 

"Why  not  both?" 

"Have  no  sinew." 

"Let  me  show  ye  a  trick.  Where's  yer  glue  an' 
linen  thread  ? ' ' 

These  were  brought,  whereupon  Si  added:  "'Pears 
to  me  ye  oughter  put  the  feathers  on  last.  Better 
cut  the  notch  first." 

"  That's  so;  we  nearly  forgot.  " 

"  You  nearly  forgot,  you  mean.  Don't  drag  me  in 
the  mud,"  said  Sam,  with  owlish  dignity.  A  small 
saw  cut,  cleaned  up  and  widened  with  a  penknife, 
proved  the  best;  a  notch  one-fourth  inch  deep  was 
quickly  made  in  each  arrow,  and  Si  set  about  both 
glueing  and  lashing  on  the  feathers,  but  using  wax-end 
instead  of  sinew. 

Yan  had  marked  the  place  for  each  feather  so  that 
none  would  strike  the  bow  in  passing  (see  Cut  page  183). 
He  first  glued  them  on,  then  made  a  lashing  for  half  an 
inch  on  the  projecting  ends  of  the  feather-rib,  and 
another  behind,  carrying  this  second  lashing  back  to 
the  beginning  of  the  notch  to  guard  against  the  wood 
splitting.  When  he  had  trimmed  all  loose  ends  and 
rolled  the  waxed  thread  well  on  the  bench  with  a  flat 
stick,  the  threads  seemed  to  disappear  and  leave 
simply  a  smooth  black  ring. 

182 


o 


The  Bows  and  Arrows 

Thus  the  arrows  were  made  and  set  away  for  the 
glue  to  dry. 

Next  day  Yan  painted  Sam's  red  and  blue,  his  own 
red  and  white,  to  distinguish  them  as  well  as  guard 
them  from  the  damp.  There  was  now  one  more  thing, 
and  that  was  a  quiver. 

"Do  the  Injuns  have  them?"  asked  Sam,  with  a 
keen  eye  to  orthodoxy  when  it  promised  to  cut  short 
the  hard  work. 

"Well,  I  should  say  so ;  couldn't  live  without  them.  " 

"All  right;  hurry  up.  I'm  spoiling  for  a  hunt. 
What  are  they  made  of?" 

"Oh,  'most  anything." 

"Haven't  got  it." 

"You're  too  fast.  But  some  use  Birch  bark,  some 
use  the  skin  of  an  animal,  and  some  use  canvas  now 
when  other  stuff  is  scarce. " 

"That's  us.  You  mind  the  stuff  left  off  the 
teepee  ?" 

"Do  till  we  get  better."  So  each  made  a  sort  of 
canvas  bag  shorter  than  the  arrows.  Yan  painted 
an  Indian  device  on  each,  and  they  were  ready. 

"  Now  bring  on  your  Bears,  "  said  the  older  boy,  and 
feeling  a  sense  of  complete  armament,  they  went  out. 

"See  who  can  hit  that  tree."  Both  fired  together 
and  missed,  but  Sam's  arrow  struck  another  tree  and 
split  open. 

"  Guess  we'd  better  get  a  soft  target, "  he  remarked. 
Then  after  discussion  they  got  a  large  old  corn  sack 
full  of  hay,  painted  on  it  some  rings  around  a  bull's 


OMAHA  BOW-CASE  AND  QUIVER  OF  BUCKSKIN  AND   QUILLWORK 


Two  Little  Savages 

eye  (a  Buffalo's  eye,  Sam  called  it)  and  set  it  up  at 
twenty  yards. 

They  were  woefully  disappointed  at  first  in  their 
shooting.  It  did  seem  a  very  easy  mark,  and  it  was 
disappointing  to  have  the  arrows  fly  some  feet  away 
to  the  left. 

"  Le's  get  in  the  barn  and  shoot  at  that,  "  suggested 
Sam. 

"We  might  hit  it  if  we  shut  the  door  tight,"  was 
the  optimistic  reply.  As  well  as  needing  practice, 
the  boys  had  to  learn  several  little  rules  about 
Archery.  But  Yan  had  some  pencil  notes  from 
"that  book"  and  some  more  in  his  brain  that  with 
much  practice  gradually  taught  him:  To  stand 
with  his  heel  centres  in  line  with  the  target;  his 
right  elbow  in  line  with  the  arrow;  his  left  hand 
fixed  till  the  arrow  struck;  his  right  thumb  always 
on  the  same  place  on  his  cheek  when  he  fired,  and 
the  bow  plumb. 

They  soon  found  that  they  needed  guards  for  the 
left  arm  where  the  bow  strings  struck,  and  these  they 
made  out  of  the  leg  of  an  old  boot  (see  Cut  page  183), 
and  an  old  glove  to  protect  the  fingers  of  the  right  hand 
when  they  practised  very  much.  After  they  learned 
to  obey  the  rules  without  thinking  about  them,  the 
boys  improved  quickly  and  soon  they  were  able  to  put 
all  the  arrows  into  the  hay  sack  at  twenty  yards, 
increasing  the  distance  later  till  they  could  make  fair 
shooting  at  forty  yards. 

They  were  not  a  little  surprised  to  find  how  much 

186 


The  Bows  and  Arrows 


individuality  the  arrows  had,  although  meant  to  be 
exactly  alike. 

Sam  had  one  that  continued  to  warp  until  it  was 
much  bent,  and  the  result  was  some  of  the  most 
surprising  curves  in  its  flight.  This  he  called  the 
"Boomerang."  Another,  with  a  very  small  feather, 
travelled  farther  than  any  of  the  rest.  This  was 
the  "Far-killer."  His  best  arrow,  one  that  he  called 
"Sure-death,"  was  a  long-feathered  Turkey  shaft 
with  a  light  head.  It  was  very  reliable  on  a  calm 
day,  but  apt  to  swerve  in  the  wind.  Yet  another, 
with  a  small  feather,  was  correspondingly  reliable 
on  a  windy  day.  This  was  "Wind-splitter." 

The  one  Yan  whittled  with  the  knife  was  called 
the  "Whittler,"  and  sometimes  the  "Joker."  It 
was  a  perpetual  mystery;  they  never  knew  just  what 
it  would  do  next.  His  particular  pet  was  one  with 
a  hollow  around  the  point,  which  made  a  whistling 
sound  when  it  flew,  and  was  sometimes  called  the 
"Whistler  "  and  sometimes  the"Jabberwock,"  "which 
whiffled  through  the  tulgy  wood  and  burbled  as  it 
came." 


CORRECT  FORM  IN  SHOOTING 
The  diagram  at  bottom  is  to  show  the  centres  of  heels  in  line  with  target 


X 

The  Dam 

ONE  hot  day  early  in  July  they  were  enjoying 
themselves  in  the  shallow  bathing-hole  of  the 
creek,  when  Sam  observed:  "It's  getting  low. 
It  goes  dry  every  summer." 

This  was  not  pleasing  to  foresee,  and  Yan  said, 
"Why  can't  we  make  a  dam?" 

"A  little  too  much  like  work." 

"Oh,  pshaw!  That'd  be  fun  and  we'd  have  a 
swimming-place  for  all  summer,  then.  Come  on; 
let's  start  now." 

"Never  heard  of  Injuns  doing  so  much  work." 

"Well,  we'll  play  Beaver  while  we  do  it.  Come 
on,  now;  here's  for  a  starter,"  and  Yan  carried  a 
big  stone  to  what  seemed  to  him  the  narrowest 
place.  Then  he  brought  more,  and  worked  with 
enthusiasm  till  he  had  a  line  of  stones  right  across 
the  creek  bed. 

Sam  still  sat  naked  on  the  bank,  his  knees  to  his 
chin  and  his  arms  around  them.  The  war-paint  was 
running  down  his  chest  in  blue  and  red  streaks. 

"Come  on,  here,  you  lazy  freak,  and  work,"  cried 
Yan,  and  flung  a  handful  of  mud  to  emphasize  the 
invite. 

1 88 


The  Dam 

"My  festered  knee's  broke  out  again,"  was  the 
reply. 

At  length  Yan  said,  "I'm  not  going  to  do  it  all 
alone,"  and  straightened  up  his  back. 

"Look  a-here,"  was  the  answer.  "I've  been 
thinking.  The  cattle  water  here.  The  creek  runs 
dry  in  summer,  then  the  cattle  has  to  go  to  the  barn 
yard  and  drink  at  the  trough — has  to  be  pumped 
for,  and  hang  round  for  hours  after  hoping  some  one 
will  give  them  some  oats,  instead  of  hustling  back 
to  the  woods  to  get  fat.  Now,  two  big  logs  across 
there  would  be  more'n  half  the  work.  I  guess  we'll 
ask  Da  to  lend  us  the  team  to  put  them  logs  across 
to  make  a  drinking-pond  for  the  cattle.  Them 
cattle  is  awful  on  my  mind.  Didn't  sleep  all  night 
thinking  o'  them.  I  just  hate  like  pizen  to  see  them 
walking  all  the  way  to  the  barn  in  hot  weather  for 
a  drink — 'tain't  right."  So  Sam  waited  for  a  proper 
chance  to  "tackle"  his  father.  It  did  not  come  that 
day,  but  at  breakfast  next  morning  Raften  looked 
straight  at  Yan  across  the  table,  and  evidently 
thinking  hard  about  something,  said: 

"Yahn,  this  yer  room  is  twenty  foot  by  fifteen, 
how  much  ilecloth  three  foot  wide  will  it  call  fur  ? ' ' 

"Thirty-three  and  one-third  yards,"  Yan  said  at 
once. 

Raften  was  staggered.  Yan's  manner  was  con 
vincing,  but  to  dq  all  that  in  his  head  was  the  miracle. 
Various  rude  tests  were  applied  and  the  general 
opinion  prevailed  that  Yan  was  right. 

* 
189 


Two  Little  Savages 

The  farmer's  face  beamed  with  admiration  for 
the  first  time.  "  Luk  at  that,"  he  said  to  the  table, 
"luk  at  that  fur  eddication.  When'll  you  be  able 
to  do  the  like  ? "  he  said  to  Sam. 

"Never,"  returned  his  son,  with  slow  promptness. 
"Dentists  don't  have  to  figger  on  ilecloth." 

"Say,  Yan,"  said  Sam  aside,  "guess  you  better 
tackle  Da  about  the  dam.  Kind  o'  sot  up  about  ye 
this  mornin';  your  eddication  has  softened  him  some, 
an'  it'll  last  till  about  noon,  I  jedge.  Strike  while 
the  iron  is  hot." 

So  after  breakfast  Yan  commenced : 

"Mr.  Raften,  the  creek's  running  dry.  We  want 
to  make  a  pond  for  the  cattle  to  drink,  but  we  can't 
make  a  dam  without  two  big  logs  across.  Will  you 
let  us  have  the  team  a  few  minutes  to  place  the 
logs?" 

"It  ain't  fur  a  swimmin'-pond,  is  it,  ye  mean?" 
said  Raften,  with  a  twinkle  in  his  eye. 

"It  would  do  for  that  as  well,"  and  Yan  blushed. 

"Sounds  to  me  like  Sam  talking  through  Yan's 
face,"  added  Raften,  shrewdly  taking  in  the  situation. 
"I'll  see  fur  meself." 

Arrived  at  the  camp,  he  asked:  "Now,  whayer's 
yer  dam  to  be?  Thar?  That's  no  good.  It's 
narrer  but  it'd  be  runnin'  round  both  ends  afore  ye 
had  any  water  to  speak  of.  Thayer's  a  better 
place,  a  bit  wider,  but  givin'  a  good  pond.  Whayer's 
yer  logs  ?  Thayer  ?  What — my  seasoning  timber  ? 
Ye  can't  hevthat.  That's  the  sill  fur  the  new  barrn ; 


190 


The  Dam 


nor  that — it's  seasonin'  fur  gate  posts.  Thayer's  two 
ye  kin  hev.  I'll  send  the  team,  but  don't  let  me 
ketch  ye  stealin'  any  o'  my  seasonin'  timber  or  the 
fur'll  fly." 

With  true  Raften  promptness  the  heavy  team 
came,  the  two  great  logs  were  duly  dragged  across 
and  left  as  Yan  requested  (four  feet  apart  for  the  top 
of  the  dam). 

The  boys  now  drove  in  a  row  of  stakes  against  each 
log  on  the  inner  side,  to  form  a  crib,  and  were  beginning 
to  fill  in  the  space  with  mud  and  stones.  They  were 
digging  and  filling  it  up  level  as  they  went.  Clay 
was  scarce  and  the  work  went  slowly;  the  water, 
of  course,  rising  as  the  wall  arose,  added  to  the  diffi 
culty.  But  presently  Yan  said: 

"Hold  on.  New  scheme.  Let's  open  her  and  dig 
a  deep  trench  on  one  side  so  all  the  water  will  go  by, 
then  leave  a  clay  wall  to  it"  [the  trench]  "and  dig  a 
deep  hole  on  the  other  side  of  it.  That  will  give  us 
plenty  of  stuff  for  the  dam  and  help  to  deepen  the 
pond." 

Thus  they  worked.  In  a  week  the  crib  was  full  of 
packed  clay  and  stone.  Then  came  the  grand  finish 
— the  closing  of  this  last  hole  through  the  dam. 
It  was  not  easy  with  the  full  head  of  water  running, 
but  they  worked  like  beavers  and  finally  got  it 
stopped. 

That  night  there  was  a  heavy  shower.  Next  day 
when  they  came  near  they  heard  a  dull  roar  in  the 
woods.  They  stopped  and  listened  in  doubt,  then 


Two  Little  Savages 

Yan  exclaimed  gleefully:  "The  dam!  That's  the 
water  running  over  the  dam." 

They  both  set  off  with  a  yell  and  ran  their  fastest. 
As  soon  as  they  came  near  they  saw  a  great  sheet 
of  smooth  water  where  the  stony  creek  bottom  had 
been  and  a  steady  current  over  the  low  place  left 
as  an  overflow  in  the  middle  of  the  dam. 

What  a  thrill  of  pleasure  that  was  ! 

"Last  in's  a  dirty  sucker." 

"Look  out  for  my  bad  knee,"  was  the  response. 

The  rest  of  the  race  was  a  mixture  of  stripping  and 
sprinting  and  the  boys  splashed  in  together. 

Five  feet  deep  in  the  deep  hole,  a  hundred  yards 
long,  and  all  their  own  doing. 

"Now,  wasn't  it  worth  it?"  asked  Yan,  who  had 
had  much  difficulty  in  keeping  Sam  steadily  at  play 
that  looked  so  very  much  like  work. 

"Wonder  how  that  got  here?  I  thought  I  left 
that  in  the  teepee?"  and  Sam  pointed  to  a  log  that 
he  used  for  a  seat  in  the  teepee,  but  now  it  was 
lodged  in  the  overflow. 

Yan  was  a  good  swimmer,  and  as  they  played  and 
splashed,  Sam  said:  "Now  I  know  who  you  are. 
You  can't  hide  it  from  me  no  longer.  I  suspicioned 
it  when  you  were  working  on  the  dam.  You're 
that  tarnal  Redskin  they  call  'Little  Beaver."1 

"I've  been  Watching  you,"  retorted  Yan,  "and  it 
seems  to  me  I've  run  up  against  that  copper-coloured 
scallawag — '  Young-Man-Afraid-of-a-Shovel.'  ' 

"No,  you  don't,"  said  Sam.     "Nor  I  ain't  'Bald- 

192 


The  Dam 

Eagle-Settin'-on-a-Rock-with-his-Tail-Hangin'-over-the- 
Edge,'  nuther.  In  fact,  I  don't  keer  to  be  recog 
nized  just  now.  Ain't  it  a  relief  to  think  the  cattle 
don't  have  to  take  that  walk  any  more  ? " 

Sam  was  evidently  trying  to  turn  the  subject,  but 
Yan  would  not  be  balked.  "I  heard  Si  call  you 
'Woodpecker'  the  other  day." 

"Yep.  I  got  that  at  school.  When  I  was  a  kid 
to  hum  I  heerd  Ma  talk  about  me  be-a-u-tiful  golden 
hair,  but  when  I  got  big  enough  to  go  to  school  I 
learned  that  it  was  only  red,  an'  they  called  me  the 
'Red-headed  Woodpecker.'  I  tried  to  lick  them, 
but  lots  of  them  could  lick  me  an'  rubbed  it  in  wuss. 
When  I  seen  fight  in'  didn't  work,  I  let  on  to  like  it, 
but  it  was  too  late  then.  Mostly  it's  just  'Wood 
pecker'  for  short.  I  don't  know  as  it  ever  lost  me 
any  sleep." 

Half  an  hour  later,  as  they  sat  by  the  fire  that  Yan 
made  with  rubbing-sticks,  he  said,  "Say,  Wood 
pecker,  I  want  to  tell  you  a  story."  Sam  grimaced, 
pulled  his  ears  forward,  and  made  ostentatious 
preparations  to  listen. 

"There  was  once  an  Indian  squaw  taken  prisoner 
by  some  other  tribe  way  up  north.  They  marched 
her  500  miles  away,  but  one  night  she  escaped  and 
set  out,  not  on  the  home  trail,  for  she  knew  they 
would  follow  that  way  and  kill  her,  but  to  one  side. 
She  didn't  know  the  country  and  got  lost.  She  had 
no  weapons  but  a  knife,  and  no  food  but  berries. 
Well,  she  travelled  fast  for  several  days  till  a  rain 
storm  came,  then  she  felt  safe,  for  she  knew  her 

195 


Two  Little  Savages 

enemies  could  not  trail  her  now.  But  winter  was 
near  and  she  could  not  get  home  before  it  came.  So 
she  set  to  work  right  where  she  was. 

She  made  a  wigwam  of  Birch  bark  and  a  fire 
with  rubbing-sticks,  using  the  lace  of  her  moccasin 
for  a  bow-string.  She  made  snares  of  the  inner 
bark  of  the  Willow  and  of  Spruce  roots,  and  dead 
falls,,  too,  for  Rabbits.  She  was  starving  some 
times,  at  first,  but  she  ate  the  buds  and  inner 
bark  of  Birch  trees  till  she  found  a  place  where 
there  were  lots  of  Rabbits.  And  when  she 
caught  some  she  used  every  scrap  of  them.  She 
made  a  fishing-line  of  the  sinews,  and  a  hook  of  the 
bones  and  teeth  lashed  together  with  sinew  and 
Spruce  gum. 

She  made  a  cloak  of  Rabbit  skins,  sewed  with 
needles  of  Rabbit  bone  and  thread  of  Rabbit  sinew, 
and  a  lot  of  dishes  of  Birch  bark  sewed  with  Spruce 
roots. 

"She  put  in  the  whole  winter  there  alone,  and 
when  the  spring  came  she  was  found  by  Samuel 
Hearne,  the  great  traveller.  Her  precious  knife  was 
worn  down,  but  she  was  fat  and  happy  and  ready  to 
set  out  for  her  own  people." 

"Well,  I  say  that's  mighty  inter-est-in', "  said 
Sam — he  had  listened  attentively — "an'  I'd  like 
nothin'  better  than  to  try  it  myself  if  I  had  a  gun  an' 
there  was  lots  of  game." 

"  Pooh,  who  wouldn't  ? " 

"Mighty  few — an'  there's  mighty  few  who  could" 

"I  could." 

196 


The  Dam 

"What,  make  everything  with  just  a  knife?  I'd 
like  to  see  you  make  a  teepee, "  then  adding  earnestly, 
"Sam,  we've  been  kind  o'  playing  Injuns;  now  let's 
do  it  properly.  Let's  make  everything  out  of  what 
we  find  in  the  woods." 

"Guess  we'll  have  to  visit  the  Sanger  Witch  again. 
She  knows  all  about  plants." 

"We'll  be  the  Sanger  Indians.  We  can  both  be 
Chiefs,"  said  Yan,  not  wishing  to  propose  himself  as 
Chief  or  caring  to  accept  Sam  as  his  superior.  "I'm 
Little  Beaver.  Now  what  are  you?" 

"  Bloody-Thundercloud-in-the- Afternoon. " 

"No,  try  again.  Make  it  something  you  can  draw, 
so  you  can  make  your  totem,  and  make  it  short." 

"What's  the  smartest  animal  there  is?" 

"I — I — suppose  the  Wolverine." 

"What!     Smarter 'n  a  Fox?" 

"The  books  say  so." 

"Kin  he  lick  a  Beaver?" 

"Well,  I  should  say  so." 

"Well,  that's  me." 

"No,  you  don't.  I'm  not  going  around  with  a 
fellow  that  licks  me.  It  don't  fit  you  as  well  as 
'Woodpecker,'  anyhow.  I  always  get  you  when  I 
want  a  nice  tree  spoiled  or  pecked  into  holes," 
retorted  Yan,  magnanimously  ignoring  the  personal 
reason  for  the  name. 

"Tain't  as  bad  as  bcavering,"  answered  Sam. 

"  Beavering  "  was  a  word  with  a  history.  Axes  and 
timber  were  the  biggest  things  in  the  lives  of  the 


197 


Two  Little  Savages 

Sangerites.  Skill  with  the  axe  was  the  highest  accom 
plishment.  The  old  settlers  used  to  make  everything 
in  the  house  out  of  wood,  and  with  the  axe  for  the  only 
tool.  It  was  even  -said  that  some  of  them  used  to 
"edge  her  up  a  bit"  and  shave  with  her  on  Sundays. 
When  a  father  was  setting  his  son  up  in  life  he  gave 
him  simply  a  good  axe.  The  axe  was  the  grand 
essential  of  life  and  work,  and  was  supposed  to  be  a 
whole  outfit.  Skill  with  the  axe  was  general.  Every 
man  and  boy  was  more  or  less  expert,  and  did  not 
know  how  expert  he  was  till  a  real  "greeny"  came 
among  them.  There  is  a  right  way  to  cut  for  each 
kind  of  grain,  and  a  certain  proper  way  of  felling  a 
tree  to  throw  it  in  any  given  direction  with  the 
minimum  of  labour.  All  these  things  are  second 
nature  to  the  Sangerite.  A  Beaver  is  credited  with  a 
haphazard  way  of  gnawing  round  and  round  a  tree  till 
somehow  it  tumbles,  and  when  a  chopper  deviates 
in  the  least  from  the  correct  form,  the  exact  right  cut 
in  the  exact  right  place,  he  is  said  to  be  "beavering"; 
therefore,  while  "working  like  a  Beaver"  is  high  praise, 
"  beavering  "  a  tree  is  a  term  of  unmeasured  reproach, 
and  Sam's  final  gibe  had  point  and  force  that  none 
but  a  Sangerite  could  possibly  have  appreciated. 


198 


XI 
Yan  and   the  Witch 

The  Sanger  "Witch  hated  the  Shanty-man's  axe 

And  wildfire,  too,  they  tell, 
But  the  hate  that  she  had  for  the  Sporting  man 

Was  wuss  nor  her  hate  of  Hell ! 

—Cracked  Jimmie's  Ballad  of  Sanger. 

YAN  took  his  earliest  opportunity  to  revisit  the 
Sanger  Witch. 
"Better  leave  me  out,"  advised  Sam,  when 
he  heard  of  it.    "She'd  never  look  at  you  if  I  went. 
You  look  too  blame  healthy." 

So  Yan  went  alone,  and  he  was  glad  of  it.  Fond 
as  he  was  of  Sam,  his  voluble  tongue  and  ready  wit 
left  Yan  more  or  less  in  the  shade,  made  him  look 
sober  and  dull,  and  what  was  worse,  continually 
turned  the  conversation  just  as  it  was  approaching 
some  subject  that  was  of  deepest  interest  to  him. 

As  he  was  leaving,  Sam  called  out,  "Say,  Yan, 
if  you  want  to  stay  there  to  dinner  it'll  be  all  right 
— we'll  know  why  you  hain't  turned  up."  Then  he 
stuck  his  tongue  in  his  cheek,  closed  one  eye  and  went 
to  the  barn  with  his  usual  expression  of  inscrutable 
melancholy. 

Yan  carried  his  note-book — he  used  it  more  and 


199 


Two  Little  Savages 

more,  also  his  sketching  materials.  On  the  road  he 
gathered  a  handful  of  flowers  and  herbs.  His  recep 
tion  by  the  old  woman  was  very  different  this  time. 

"Come  in,  come  in,  God  bless  ye,  an'  hoo  air  ye, 
an'  how  is  yer  father  an'  mother — come  in  an'  set 
down,  an'  how  is  that  spalpeen,  Sam  Raften?" 

"  Sam's  all  right  now, "  said  Yan  with  a  blush. 

"All  right !  Av  coorse  he's  all  right.  I  knowed  I'd 
fix  him  all  right,  an'  he  knowed  it,  an'  his  Ma  knowed 
it  when  she  let  him  come.  Did  she  say  ony thing 
about  it?" 

"No,  Granny,  not  a  word." 

"The  dhirty  hussy  !  Saved  the  boy's  life  in  sphite 
of  their  robbin'  me  an'  she  ain't  human  enough  to 
say  'thank  ye' — the  dhirty  hussy  !  May  God  forgive 
her  as  I  do,"  said  the  old  woman  with  evident  and 
implacable  enmity. 

"  Fwhat  hev  ye  got  thayer  ?  Hivin  be  praised,  they 
can't  kill  them  all  off.  They  kin  cut  down  the  trees, 
but  the  flowers  comes  ivery  year,  me  little  beauties — 
me  little  beauties!"  Yan  spread  them  out.  She 
picked  up  an  Arum  and  went  on.  "  Now,  that's 
Sorry -plant,  only  some  calls  it  Injun  Turnip,  an'  I 
hear  the  childer  call  it  Jack-in -the-Pulpit.  Don't  ye 
never  put  the  root  o'  that  near  yer  tongue.  It'll  sure 
burn  ye  like  fire.  First  thing  whin  they  gits  howld 
av  a  greeny  the  bhise  throis  to  make  him  boite  that 
same.  Shure  he  niver  does  it  twicet.  The  Injuns 
b'ile  the  pizen  out  o'  the  root  an'  ates  it;  shure 
it's  better'n  starvin'." 


200 


Yan  and  the  Witch 

Golden  Seal  (Hydrastis  canadcnsis),  the  plant  she 
had  used  for  Sam's  knee,  was  duly  recognized  and 
praised,  its  wonderful  golden  root,  "the  best  goold 
iver  came  out  av  the  ground,"  was  described  with  its 
impression  of  the  seal  of  the  Wise  King. 

"Thim's  Mandrakes,  an'  they're  moighty  late,  an' 
ye  shure  got  thim  in  the  woods.  Some  calls  it  May 
Apples,  an'  more  calls  it  Kingroot.  The  Injuns  use 
it  fur  their  bowels,  an'  it  has  cured  many  a  horse  of 
pole  evil  that  I  seen  meself. 

"An'  Blue  Cohosh,  only  I  call  that  Spazzum-root. 
Thayer  ain't  nothin'  like  it  fur  spazzums — took  like 
tay;  only  fur  that  the  Injun  women  wouldn't  live  in 
all  their  thrubles,  but  that's  something  that  don't 
consarn  ye.  Luk  now,  how  the  laves  is  all  spread  out 
like  wan  wid  spazzums.  Glory  be  to  the  Saints  and  the 
Blessed  Virgin,  everything  is  done  fur  us  on  airth  an' 
plain  marked,  if  we'd  only  take  the  thruble  to  luk. 

"Now  luk  at  thot,  "  said  she,  clawing  over  the  bundle 
and  picking  out  a  yellow  Cypripedium,  that's  Moc 
casin-plant  wid  the  Injuns,  but  mercy  on  'em 
fur  bloind,  miserable  haythens.  They  don't  know 
nothin'  an'  don't  want  to  larn  it.  That's  Umbil,  or 
Sterrick-root.  It's  powerful  good  fur  sterricks.  Luk 
at  it !  See  the  face  av  a  woman  in  sterricks  wid  her 
hayer  flyin'  an'  her  jaw  a-droppin'.  I  moind  the 
toime  Larry's  little  gurrl  didn't  want  to  go  to  her 
'place'  an'  hed  sterricks.  They  jest  sent  fur  me  an' 
I  brung  along  a  Sterrick-root.  First,  I  sez,  sez  I, 
'Get  me  some  b'ilin'  wather,'  an'  I  made  tay  an'  give 

201 


Two  Little  Savages 

it  to  her  b'ilin'  hot.  As  shure  as  Oi'm  a  livin'  corpse, 
the  very  first  spoonful  fetched  her  all  right.  Oh,  but 
it's  God's  own  gift,  an'  it's  be  His  blessin'  we  know 
how  to  use  it.  An'  it  don't  do  to  just  go  an'  dig  it 
when  ye  want  it.  It  has  to  be  grubbed  when  the 
flower  ain't  thayer.  Ye  see,  the  strength  ain't  in 
both  places  to  oncet.  It's  ay t her  in  the  flower  or  in 
the  root,  so  when  the  flower  is  thayer  the  root's  no 
more  good  than  an  ould  straw.  Ye  hes  to  hunt  fur 
it  in  spring  or  in  fall,  just  when  the  divil  himself 
wouldn't  know  whayer  to  find  it. 

"An'  fwhat  hev  ye  thayer?  Good  land  !  if  it  ain't 
Skunk's  Cabbage  !  Ye  sure  come  up  by  the  Bend. 
That's  the  on'y  place  whayer  that  grows." 

"Yes,"  replied  Yan;  "that's  just  where  I  got  it. 
But  hold  on,  Granny,  I  want  to  sketch  all  those  and 
note  down  their  names  and  what  you  say  about  them." 

"  Shure,  you'd  hev  a  big  book  when  I  wuz  through,  " 
said  the  old  woman  with  pride,  as  she  lit  her  pipe, 
striking  the  match  on  what  would  have  been  the  leg 
of  her  pants  had  she  been  a  man. 

"An'  shure  ye  don't  need  to  write  down  what 
they're  good  fur,  fur  the  good  Lord  done  that  Himself 
long  ago.  Luk  here,  now.  That's  Cohosh,  fur  spaz- 
zums,  an'  luks  like  it;  that's  Moccasin,  fur  Highster- 
ricks,  an'  luks  like  it;  wall,  thar's  Skunk-root  fur  both, 
an'  don't  it  luk  like  the  two  o'  thim  thigither?" 

Yan  feebly  agreed,  but  had  much  difficulty  in  seeing 
what  the  plant  had  in  common  with  the  others. 

"  A.n'   luk  here !     Thayer  ye   got   Lowbelier,  that 

202 


Yan  and  the  Witch 

some  calls  Injun  tobaccer.  Ye  found  this  by  the 
crick,  an'  it's  a  little  airly — ahead  o'  toime.  That's 
the  shtuff  to  make  ye  throw  up  when  ye  want  to. 
Luk,  ain't  that  lafe  the  livin'  shape  of  a  shtummick  ? 

"Thayer's  the  Highbelier;  it's  a  high  hairb,  an' it's 
moighty  foine  fur  the  bowels  when  ye  drink  the  dry 
root. 

"Spice wood"  [Spicebush,  Lindera  benzoin],  "or 
Fayverbush,  them  twigs  is  great  fur  tay — that  cures 
shakes  and  fayver.  Shure  an'  it  shakes  ivery  toime 
the  wind  blows. 

"That's  Clayvers,"  she  said,  picking  up  a  Galium. 
"  Now  fwhat  wud  ye  think  that  wuz  fur  to  cure  ? " 

"I  don't  know.     What  is  it?" 

"Luk  now,  an'  see  how  it's  wrote  in  it  plain  as 
prent — yes,  an'  a  sight  plainer,  fur  I  can  read 
them  an'  I  can't  read  a  wurrud  in  a  book.  Now 
fwhat  is  that  loike?"  said  she,  holding  up  the  double 
seed-pod. 

"A  brain  and  spinal  column,"  said  Yan. 

"Och,  choild,  I  hev  better  eyes  than  ye.  Shure 
them's  two  kidneys,  an'  that's  fwhat  Clayver  tay  will 
cure  better 'n  all  the  docthers  in  the  wurruld,  an' 
ye  hev  to  know  just  how.  Ye  see,  kidney  thruble  is  a 
koind  o'  fayver;  it's  hatin',  so  ye  make  yer  Clayver 
tay  in  cold  wather;  if  ye  make  it  o'  warrum  wather  it 
just  makes  ye  wu^s  an'  acts  loike  didly  pizen. 
Thayer's  Sweatplant,  or  Boneset"  [Eupatorium  per- 
foliatum],  "that's  the  thing  to  sweat  ye.  Wanst  Oi 
sane  a  feller  jest  dyin'  o'  dry  hoide,  wuz  all  hoide- 


203 


Two  Little  Savages 


bound,  an'  the  docthers  throid  an'  throid  an'  couldn't 
help  wan  bit,  till  I  guv  his  mother  some  Boneset  leaves 
to  make  tay,  an'  he  sweat  buckets  before  he'd  more'n 
smelt  av  it,  an'  the  docthers  thought  they  done  it 
theirsilves  ! "  and  she  cackled  gleefully. 

"Thayer's  Goldthread  fur  cankermouth,  an'  Pipsis- 
sewa  that  cures  fayver  an'  rheumatiz,  too.  It  always 
grows  where  folks  gits  them  disayses.  Luk  at  the 
flower  just  blotched  red  an'  white  loike  fayver 
blotches — an'  Spearmint,  that  saves  ye  if  ye  pizen 
yerself  with  Spazzum-root,  an'  shure  it  grows  right 
next  it  in  the  woods ! 

"Thayer's  Wormseed  fur  wurrums — see  the  little 
wurrum  on  the  leaves"  [Cheno podium], "an'  that  thayer 
is  Pleurisy  root,  an'  thayer !  well,  thayer's  the  foinest 
hairb  that  iver  God  made  to  grow-^that's  Cure-all. 
Some  things  cures  wan  thing  and  some  cures  another, 
but  when  ye  don't  know  just  what  to  take,  ye  make 
tay  o'  that  root  an'  ye  can't  go  wrong.  It  was  an 
Injun  larned  me  that.  The  poor  miserable  baste  of  a 
hay  then  hed  some  larnin',  an'  the  minit  he  showed  me 
I  knowed  it  was  so,  fur  ivery  lafe  wuz  three  in  wan 
an'  wan  in  three,  an'  had  the  sign  o'  the  blessed  crass 
in  the  middle  as  plain  as  that  biler  settin'  on  the 
stove." 

Thus  she  chattered  away,  smoking  her  short  pipe, 
expectorating  on  the  top  of  the  hot  stove,  but  with 
true  feminine  delicacy  she  was  careful  each  time  to 
wipe  her  mouth  on  the  back  of  her  skinny  arm. 

"An'  that's  what's  called  Catnip ;  sure  Oi  moind  well 


204 


Yan  and  the  Whch 

the  day  Oi  furst  larned  about  that.  It  Warn't  a  Injun 
nor  a  docther  nor  a  man  at  all,  at  all,  that  larned  me 
that.  It  was  that  ould  black  Cat,  an'  may  the  saints 
stand  bechuxt  me  an'  his  grane  eyes !  Bejabers, 
sometimes  he  scares  me  wid  his  knowin'  ways,  but  I 
hev  nothin'  agin  him  except  that  he  kills  the  wee 
burruds.  He  koind  o'  measled  all  wan  winter  an'  lay 
around  the  stove.  Whiniver  the  dooer  was  open  he'd 
go  an'  luk  out  an'  then  come  back  an'  meow  an'  wheen 
an'  lay  down — an'  so  he  kep'  on,  gittin'  waker  an' 
worser,  till  the  snow  wuz  gone  an'  grass  come  up,  an' 
still  he'd  go  a-lukin'  toward  the  ayst,  especially  nights. 
Then  thayer  come  up  a  plant  I  had  never  sane,  right 
thayer,  an'  he'd  luk  at  it  an'  luk  at  it  loike  he  wanted 
it  but  didn't  dar  to.  Thar  was  some  foine  trays  out 
thayer  in  thim  days  afore  the  ould  baste  cut  thim 
down,  an'  wan  av  thim  hed  a  big  limb,  so — an'  another 
so — an'  when  the  moon  come  up  full  at  jest  the  right 
time  the  shaddy  made  the  sign  av  the  crass  an' 
loighted  on  me  dooer,  an'  after  it  was  past  it  didn't 
make  no  crass.  Well,  bejabers,  the  full  moon  come 
up  at  last  an'  she  made  the  sign  of  the  shaddy  crass, 
an'  the  ould  Cat  goes  out  an'  watches  an'  watches  loike 
life  wanted  to  an'  didn't  dar  to,  till  that  crass  drapped 
fayer  onto  the  hairbs,  an'  Tom  he  jumped  then  an' 
ate  an'  ate,  an'  from  that  day  he  was  a  well  Cat;  an' 
that's  how  Oi  larned  Catnip,  an'  it  set  me  moind  aisy, 
too,  fur  no  Cat  that's  possesst  '11  iver  ate  inunder  the 
shaddy  av  the  crass." 

Yan  was  scribbling  away,  but  had  given  up  any 

205 


Two  Little  Savages 

attempt  to  make  sketches  or  even  notes  beyond  the 
names  of  the  plants. 

"Shure,  choild,  put  them  papers  wid  the  names 
on  the  hairbs  an'  save  them;  that  wuz  fwhat  Docther 
Carmartin  done  whin  Oi  was  larnin'  him.  Thayer, 
now,  that's  it,"  she  added,  as  Yan  took  the  hint  and 
began  slipping  on  each  stalk  a  paper  label  with  its 
name. 

"That's  a  curious  broom,"  said  Yan,  as  his  eye 
fell  on  the  symbol  of  order  and  cleanliness,  making 
strange  reflections  on  itself. 

"Yes;  sure,  that's  a  Baitche  broom.  Larry  makes 
'em." 

"  Larry  ? " 

"Yes,  me  bhoy."  [Larry  was  nearly  sixty.]  "He 
makes  thim  of  Blue  Baitche." 

"How?"  asked  Yan,  picking  it  up  and  examining 
it  with  intense  interest. 

"Whoi,  shure,  by  whittlin'.  Larry's  a  howly 
terror  to  whittle,  an'  he  gets  a  Blue  Baitche  sapling 
'bout  three  inches  thick  an'  starts  a-whittlin'  long 
slivers,  but  laves  them  on  the  sthick  at  wan  end  till 
thayer  all  round  loike  that." 

"What,  like  a  fire-lighter?" 

"  Yis,  yis,  that's  it,  only  bigger,  an  Blue  Baitche  is 
terrible  tough.  Then  whin  he  has  the  sthick  down 
to  'bout  an  inch  thick,  he  ties  all  the  slivers  the 
wrong  way  wid  a  sthrand  o'  Litherwood,  an'  thrims 
down  the  han'el  to  suit,  an'  evens  up  the  ind  av  the 
broom  wid  the  axe  an'  lets  it  dhry  out,  an'  thayer  yer 

206 


Yan  and  the  Witch 

is.  Better  broom  was  niver  made,  an'  there  niver 
wuz  ony  other  in  th'  famb'ly  till  he  married  that 
Kitty  Connor,  the  lowest  av  the  low,  an'  it's  meself 
was  all  agin  her,  wid  her  proidQ  an'  her  dirthy  sthuck- 
up  ways;  nothin'  but  boughten  things  wuz  good 
enough  fur  her,  her  that  niver  had  a  dacint  male  till 
she  thrapped  moi  Larry.  Yis,  low  be  it  sphoken, 
but  'thrapped'  's  the  wurrud,"  said  the  old  woman, 
raising  her  voice  to  give  emphasis  that  told  a  lurid 
tale. 

At  t-his  moment  the  door  opened  and  in  came 
Biddy,  and  as  she  was  the  daughter  of  the  unspeakable 
Kitty  the  conversation  turned. 

"An'  sure  it's  glad  to  see  ye  I  am,  an'  when  are  ye 
comin'  down  to  reside  at  our  place  ? "  was  her  greeting 
to  Yan,  and  while  they  talked  Granny  took  advantage 
of  the  chance  to  take  a  long  pull  at  a  bottle  that 
looked  and  smelled  like  Lung-balm. 

"Moi,  Biddy,  yer  airly,"  said  Granny. 

"Shure,  an'  now  it  was  late  whin  I  left  home,  an' 
the  schulmaster  says  it's  always  so  walking  from 
ayst  to  west." 

"  An'  shure  it's  glad  Oi  am  to  say  ye,  fur  Yan  will 
shtop  an  ate  wid  us.  It  ain't  duck  an'  grane  pase, 
but,  thank  God,  we  hev  enough  an'  a  hearty  welcome 
wid  ivery  boite.  Ye  say,  Biddy  makes  me  dinner 
ivery  foine  day  an'  Oi  get  a  boite  an'  a  sup  for  meself 
other  toimes,  an'  slapes  be  me  lone  furbyme  Dog  an' 
Cat  an'  the  apples,  which  thayer  ain't  but  a  hand 
ful  left,  but  fwhat  thar  is  is  yourn.  Help  yerself, 

207 


Two  Little  Savages 

choild,  an'  ate  hearty,"  and  she  turned  down  the 
gray-looking  bedclothes  to  show  the  last  half-dozen 
of  the  same  rosy  apples. 

"Ain't  you  afraid  to  sleep  here  alone  nights, 
Granny  ? ' ' 

"Shure  fwhat  hev  Oi  to  fayre?  Thayer  niver 
wuz  robbers  come  but  wanst,  an'  shure  I  got 
theyer  last  cint  aflf  av  them.  They  come  one  night 
an'  broke  in,  an'  settin'  up,  Oi  sez,  'Now  fwhat  are 
yez  lukin'  fur  ? ' 

"'Money,'  sez  they,  fur  thayer  was  talk  all  round 
thin  that  Oi  had  sold  me  cow  fur  $25. 

"Sure,  thin,  Oi'll  get  up  an'  help  ye,'  sez  Oi,  fur 
divil  a  cint  hev  Oi  been  able  to  set  me  eyes  on  sense 
apple  harvest. ' ' 

'  'We  want  $25,  or  we'll  kill  ye.' 

" '  Faith,  an'  if  it  wuz  twenty-five  cints  Oi  couldn't 
help  it,'  sez  Oi,  'an'  it's  ready  to  die  Oi  am,'  sez  Oi, 
'  fur  Oi  was  confessed  last  wake  an'  Oi'm  a-sayin'  me 
prayers  this  minit.' 

"Sez  the  littlest  wan,  an'  he  wa'n't  so  little,  nigh 
as  br'ad  as  that  dooer,  '  Hevn't  ye  sold  yer  cow?' 

'  Ye'll  foind  her  in  the  barrun,'  sez  Oi,  'though  Oi 
hate  to  hev  yez  disturb  her  slapin'.  It  makes  her 
drame  an'  that's  bad  fur  the  milk.' 

"An'  next  thing  them  two  robbers  wuz  laffin'  at 
each  other  fur  fools.  Then  the  little  wan  sez: 

" '  Now,  Granny,  we'll  lave  ye  in  pace,  if  ye'll  niver 
say  a  wurrud  o'  this' — but  the  other  wan  seemed 
kind  o'  sulky. 

208 


Yan  and  the  Witch 

"'Sorra  a  wurrud,'  sez  Oi,  'an'  good  frinds  we'll 
be  yit,'  an'  they  wuz  makin'  fur  the  dooer  to  clayer 
out  whin  I  sez: 

"  '  Howld  on  !  Me  friends  can't  lave  me  house  an' 
naither  boite  nor  sup;  turn  yer  backs  an'  ye  plaze, 
till  Oi  get  on  me  skirt.'  An'  whin  Oi  wuz  up  an' 
dacint  an'  tould  them  they  could  luk,  Oi  sez,  '  It's 
the  foinest  Lung-balm  in  the  land  ye  shall  taste,' 
an'  the  littlest  feller  he  starts  a-coughin',  oh,  a  tumble 
cough — it  fair  scairt  me,  like  a  hoopin'  croup — an' 
the  other  seemed  just  mad,  and  the  littlest  wan  made 
fun  av  him.  Oi  seen  the  mean  wan  wuz  left-handed 
or  let  on  he  wuz,  but  when  he  reached  out  fur  the 
bottle  he  had  on'y  three  fingers  on  his  right,  an'  they 
both  av  them  had  the  biggest,  blackest,  awfulest 
lukin'  bairds — I'd  know  them  two  bairds  agin  ony 
place — an'  the  littlest  had  a  rag  round  his  head,  said 
he  had  a  toothache,  but  shure  yer  teeth  don't  ache 
in  the  roots  o'  yer  haiyer.  Then  when  they  wuz  goin' 
the  littlest  wan  put  a  dollar  in  me  hand  an'  sez, 
'  It's  all  we  got  bechuxst  us,  Granny.'  'God  bless  ye,' 
sez  Oi,  'an'  Oi  take  it  kindly.  It's  the  first  Oi  seen 
sense  apple  harvest,  an'  it's  a  friend  ye  hev  in  me 
whin  ye  nade  wan,'"  and  the  old  woman  chuckled 
over  her  victory. 

"Granny,  do  you  know  what  the  Indians  use  for 
dyeing  colours  ?"  asked  Yan,  harking  back  to  his  main 
purpose. 

"Shure,  Yahn,  they  jest  goes  to  the  store  an'  gets 
boughten  dyes  in  packages  like  we  do." 

209 


Two  Little  Savages 

"But  before  there  were  boughten  dyes,  didn't 
they  use  things  in  the  woods  ?" 

"That  they  did,  for  shure.  I  very  thing  man  iver 
naded  the  good  Lord  made  grow  fur  him  in  the 
woods." 

"Yes,  but  what  plants?" 

"Faix,  an'  they  differ  fur  different  things." 

"Yes,  but  what  are  they?"  Then  seeing  how 
general  questions  failed,  he  went  at  it  in  detail. 

"  What  do  they  use  for  yellow  dye  on  the  Porcupine 
quills — I  mean  before  the  boughten  dyes  came?" 

"Well,  shure  an'  that's  a  purty  yellow  flower  that 
grows  in  the  fall  out  in  the  field  an'  along  the  fences. 
The  Yaller  Weed,  I  call  it,  an'  some  calls  it  Goldenrod. 
They  bile  the  quills  in  wather  with  the  flower.  Luk  ! 
Thar's  some  wool  dyed  that  way." 

"An'  the  red?"  said  Yan,  scribbling  away. 

"  Faix,  an'  they  had  no  rale  good  red.  They  made 
a  koind  o'  red  o'  berry  juice  b'iled,  an'  wanst  I  seen 
a  tumble  nice  red  an  ol'  squaw  made  b'ilin'  the 
quills  fust  in  yaller  awhile  an'  next  awhile  in  red." 

"What   berries   make   the   best   red,    Granny?" 

"Well,  'tain't  the  red  wans,  as  ye  moight  think. 
Ye  kin  make  it  of  Rosberries  or  Sumac  or  Huckle- 
berri  s  an'  lots  more,  but  Black  Currants  is  redder 
than  Red  Currants,  an'  Squaw  berries  is  best  av 
them  all." 

"What  are  they  like?" 

"Shure,  an'  Oi'll  show  ye  that  same  hairb,"  and 
they  wandered  around  outside  the  shanty  in  vain 

2IO 


Yan  and  the  Witch 

search.  It's  too  airly,"  said  Granny,  "but  it's 
round  thayer  in  heaps  in  August  an'  is  the  purtiest 
red  iver  grew.  'An  Pokeweed,  too,  it  ain't  har'ly 
flowerin'  yit,  but  in  the  fall  it  hez  berries  that's  so 
red  they're  nigh  black,  an'  dyes  the  purtiest  kind  o' 
a  purple." 

"  What  makes  blue  ? " 

"  Oi  niver  sane  none  in  the  quills.  Thayer  may  be 
some.  The  good  Lord  made  iverything  grow  in  the 
woods,  but  I  ain't  found  it  an'  niver  seen  none.  Ye 
kin  make  a  grane  av  the  young  shoots  av  Elder,  but 
it  ain't  purty  like  that,"  and  she  pointed  to  a  frightful 
emerald  ribbon  that  Biddy  wore,  "an'  a  brown  of 
Butternut  bark,  an'  a  black  av  White  Oak  chips  an' 
bark.  Ye  kin  make  a  kind  o'  grane  av  two  dips, 
wan  of  yaller  an  wan  av  black.  Ye  kin  dye  black 
wid  Hickory  bark,  an'  orange  (bad  scran  to  it)  wid 
the  inner  bark  of  Birch,  an'  yaller  wid  the  roots  av 
Hoop  Ash,  an'  a  foine  scarlet  from  the  bark  av  the 
little  root  av  Dogwood,  but  there  ain't  no  rale  blue 
in  the  woods,  an'  that's  what  I  tell  them  orange-an'- 
blue  Prattisons  on  the  i2th  o'  July,  fur  what  the 
Lord  didn't  make  the  divil  did. 

"Ye  kin  make  a  koind  of  blue  out  o'  the  Indigo 
hairb,  but  'tain't  like  this,"  pointing  to  some  scream 
ing  cobalt,  "an'  if  it  ain't  in  the  woods  the  good  Lord 
niver  meant  us  to  have  it.  Yis  !  I  tell  ye  it's  the 
divil's  own  colour,  that  blue — orange  an'  blue  is  the 
divil' s  own  colours,  shure  enough,  fur  brimstone's 
yaller;  an'  its  blue  whin  it's  burnin',  that  I  hed  from 
his  riv'rince  himself — bless  him  ! " 

211 


XII 


Dinner  with  the  Witch 

BIDDY  meanwhile  had  waddled  around  the  room 
slapping  the  boards  with  her  broad  bare  feet 
as  she  prepared  their  dinner.    She  was  evidently 
trying  to  put  on  style,  for  she  turned  out  her  toes 
excessively.      She    spoke    several   times   about    "the 
toime  when  she  resoided  with  yer  mamma,"  then  at 
length,  "Whayer'sthe  tablecloth,  Granny?" 

"Now,  wud  ye  listen  to  thot,  an'  she  knowin'  that 
divil  a  clath  hev  we  in  the  wurruld,  an'  glad  enough 
to  hev  vittles  on  the  table,  let  alone  a  clath,"  said 
Granny,  oblivious  of  the  wreck  she  was  making  of 
Biddy's  pride. 
s^  "Will  ye  hav  tay  or  coffee,  Yahn?"  said  Biddy. 

"Tea,"  was  Yan's  choice. 

"  Faix,  an'  Oi'm  glad  ye  said  tay,  fur  Oi  ain't  seen 
a  pick  o'  coffee  sense  Christmas,  an'  the  tay  Oi  kin 
git  in  the  woods,  but  thayer  is  somethin'  Oi  kin  set 
afore  ye  that  don't  grow  in  the  woods,"  and  the  old 
woman  hobbled  to  a  corner  shelf,  lifted  down  an  old 
cigar  box  and  from  among  matches,  tobacco,  feathers, 
tacks,  pins,  thread  and  dust  she  picked  six  lumps  of 
cube  sugar,  formerly  white. 

"Thayer,  shure,  an'   Oi  wuz  kapin'  this  fur  whin 


212 


Dinner  with  the  Witch 

his  riv'rence  comes;  wanst  a  year  he's  here,  God  bless 
him !  but  that's  fewer  wakes  ahid,  an'  dear  knows 
fwhat  may  happen  afore  thin.  Here,  an'  a  hearty 
welcome,"  said  she,  dropping  three  of  the  lumps  in 
Yan's  tea.  "We'll  kape  the  rest  fur  yer  second  cup. 
Hev  some  crame?"  and  she  pushed  over  a  sticky- 
handled  shaving-mug  full  of  excellent  cream.  Biddy, 
give  Yahn  some  bread." 

The  loaf,  evidently  the  only  one,  was  cut  up  and 
two  or  three  slices  forced  into  Yan's  plate. 

"Mebbe  the  butther  is  a  little  hoigh,"  exclaimed 
the  hostess,  noting  that  Yan  was  sparing  of  it. 
"Howld  on."  She  went  again  to  the  corner  shelf 
and  got  down  an  old  glass  jar  with  scalloped  edge 
and  a  flat  tin  cover.  It  evidently  contained  jam. 
.She  lifted  the  cover  and  exclaimed: 

"Well,  Oi  niver!"  Then  going  to  the  door  she 
fished  out  with  her  fingers  a  dead  mouse  and  threw 
it  out,  remarking  placidly,  "Oi've  wondered  whayer 
the  little  divil  wuz.  Oi  ain't  sane  him  this  two 
wakes,  an'  me  a-thinkin'  it  wuz  Tom  ate  him.  May 
Oi  be  furgiven  the  onjustice  av  it.  Consarn  them  flies  ! 
That  cover  niver  did  fit."  And  again  her  finger  was 
employed,  this  time  to  scrape  off  an  incrustation  of 
unhappy  flies  that  had  died,  like  Clarence,  in  their 
favourite  beverage. 

"Thayer,  Yan,  now  ate  hearty,  all  av  it,  an' 
welcome.  It  does  me  good  to  see  ye  ate — thayer's 
lots  more  whayer  that  come  from,"  though  it  was 
obvious  that  she  had  put  her  all  upon  the  table. 

213 


Two  Little  Savages 


Poor  Yan  was  in  trouble.  He  felt  instinctively 
that  the  good  old  soul  was  wrecking  her  week's 
resources  in  this  lavish  hospitality,  but  he  also  felt 
that  she  would  be  deeply  hurt  if  he  did  not 
appear  to  enjoy  everything.  The  one  possibly  clean 
thing  was  the  bread.  He  devoted  himself  to  that ;  it 
was  of  poorest  quality;  one  or  two  hairs  looping  in 
his  teeth  had  been  discouraging,  but  when  he  bit  at 
a  piece  of  linen  rag  with  a  button  on  it  he  was  fairly 
upset.  He  managed  to  hide  the  rag,  but  could  not 
conceal  his  sudden  loss  of  appetite. 

"Hev  some  more  av  this  an'  this,"  and  in  spite  of 
himself  his  plate  was  piled  up  with  things  for  him 
to  eat,  including  a  lot  of  beautifully  boiled  potatoes, 
but  unfortunately  the  hostess  carried  them  from 
the  pot  on  the  stove  in  a  corner  of  her  ancient  and 
somber  apron,  and  served  him  with  her  skinny  paw. 

Yan's  appetite  was  wholly  gone  now,  to  the  grief 
of  his  kind  entertainer,  "Shure  an'  she'd  fix  him  up 
something  to  strengthen  him,"  and  Yan  had  hard 
work  to  beg  off. 

"Would  ye  like  an  aig,"  ventured  Biddy. 

"Why,  yes  !  oh,  yes,  please,"  exclaimed  Yan,  with 
almost  too  much  enthusiasm.  He  thought,  "Well, 
hens  are  pure-minded  creatures,  anyway.  An  egg's 
sure  to  be  clean." 

Biddy  waddled  away  to  the  'barrun'  and  soon 
reappeared  with  three  eggs. 

"B'iled  or  fried?" 

"Boiled,"  said  Yan,  aiming  to  keep  to  the  safe  side. 


214 


Dinner  with  the  Witch 

Biddy  looked  around  for  a  pot. 

"Shure,  that's  b'ilin'  now,"  said  Granny,  pointing 
to  the  great  mass  of  her  undergarments  seething  in 
the  boiler,  and  accordingly  the  eggs  were  dropped 
in  there. 

Yan  fervently  prayed  that  they  might  not  break. 
As  it  was,  two  did  crack  open,  but  he  got  the  other 
one,  and  that  was  virtually  his  dinner. 

A  Purple  Blackbird  came  hopping  in  the  door  now. 

"Will,  now,  thayer's  Jack.  Whayer  hev  ye  been? 
I  thought  ye  wuz  gone  fur  good.  Shure  Oi  saved  him 
from  a  murtherin'  gunner,"  she  explained.  "(Bad 
scran  to  the  baste  !  I  belave  he  was  an  Orngeman.) 
But  he's  all  right  now  an'  comes  an'  goes  like  he 
owned  the  place.  Now,  Jack,  you  git  out  av  that 
wather  pail,"  as  the  beautiful  bird  leaped  into  the 
half -filled  drinking  bucket  and  began  to  take  a  bath. 

"Now  luk  at  that,"  she  shouted,  "ye  little  rascal, 
come  out  o'  that  oven,"  for  now  the  Blackbird  had 
taken  advantage  of  the  open  door  to  scramble  into 
the  dark  warm  oven. 

"Thayer  he  goes  to  warrum  his  futs.  Oh,  ye  little 
rascal !  Next  thing  ye  know  some  one '11  slam  the 
dooer,  not  knowin'  a  thing,  and  fire  up,  an'  it's 
roastin'  aloive  ye'll  be.  Shure  an'  it's  tempted 
Oi  am  to  wring  yer  purty  neck  to  save  yer  loife," 
and  she  drove  him  out  with  the  harshest  of  words 
and  the  gentlest  of  hands. 

Then  Yan,  with  his  arms  full  of  labelled  plants, 
set  out  for  home. 


2I5 


Two  Little  Savages 

"Good-boi,  choild,  come  back  agin  and  say  me 
soon.  Bring  some  more  hairbs.  Good-boi,  an'  bless 
ye.  Oi  hope  it's  no  sin  to  say  so,  fur  Oi  know  yer  a 
Prattison  an'  ye  are  all  on  yez  goin'  to  hell,  but  yer 
a  foine  bhoy.  Oi'm  tumble  sorry  yer  a  Prattison." 

When  Yan  got  back  to  the  Raf tens'  he  found  the 
dinner  table  set  for  one,  though  it  was  now  three  in 
the  afternoon. 

"Come  and  get  your  dinner,"  said  Mrs.  Raf  ten  in 
her  quiet  motherly  way.  "I'll  put  on  the  steak.  It 
will  be  ready  in  five  minutes." 

"But  I've  had  my  dinner  with  Granny  de  Neuville." 

"Yes,  I  know  !" 

"Did  she  stir  yer  tea  with  one  front  claw  an'  put 
jam  on  yer  bread  with  the  other?"  asked  Raf  ten, 
rather  coarsely. 

"Did  she  b'ile  her  pet  Blackbird  fur  yer  soup?" 
said  Sam. 

Yan  turned  very  red.  Evidently  all  had  a  good 
idea  of  what  he  had  experienced,  but  it  jarred  on  him 
to  hear  their  mockery  of  the  good  old  soul. 

He  replied  warmly,  "She  was  just  as  kind  and  nice 
as  she  could  be." 

"You  had  better  have  a  steak  now,"  said  Mrs. 
Raf  ten,  in  solicitous  doubt. 

How  tempting  was  the  thought  of  that  juicy  brown 
steak !  How  his  empty  stomach  did  crave  it !  But 
the  continued  mockery  had  stirred  him.  He  would 
stand  up  for  the  warm-hearted  old  woman  who  had 
ungrudgingly  given  him  the  best  she  had — had  given 

216 


Dinner  with  the  Witch 

her  all — to  make  a  hearty  welcome  for  a  stranger. 
They  should  never  know  how  gladly  he  would  have 
eaten  now,  and  in  loyalty  to  his  recent  hostess  he 
added  the  first  lie  of  his  life : 

"No,  thank  you  very  much,  but  really  I  am  not 
in  the  least  hungry.  I  had  a  fine  dinner  at  Granny 
de  Neuville's." 

Then,  defying  the  inner  pangs  of  emptiness,  he 
went  about  his  evening  chores. 


-•- * 


217 


XIII 
The  Hostile   Spy 

WONDER  where  Caleb  got  that  big  piece  of  Birch 
bark,"  said  Yan;  "I'd  like  some  for  dishes." 
"Guess  I  know.     He  was  over  to  Burns's 
bush.     There's  none  in  ours.     We  kin  git  some." 

"Will  you  ask  him?" 

"Naw,  who  cares  for  an  old  Birch  tree.  We'll 
go  an'  borrow  it  when  he  ain't  lookin'." 

Yan  hesitated. 

Sam  took  the  axe.  "We'll  call  this  a  war  party 
into  the  enemy's  country.  There's  sure  'nuff  war 
that-a-way.  He's  one  of  Da's  'friends.' ' 

Yan  followed,  in  doubt  still  as  to  the  strict 
honesty  of  the  proceeding. 

Over  the  line  they  soon  found  a  good-sized  canoe 
Birch,  and  were  busy  whacking  away  to  get  off  a 
long  roll,  when  a  tall  man  and  a  small  boy,  apparently 
attracted  by  the  chopping,  came  in  sight  and  made 
toward  them.  Sam  called  under  his  breath:  "It's 
old  Burns.  Let's  git." 

There  was  no  time  to  save  anything  but  themselves 
and  the  axe.  They  ran  for  the  boundary  fence,  while 
Burns  contented  himself  with  shouting  out  threats 
and  denunciations.  Not  that  he  cared  a  straw  for  the 


218 


The  Hostile  Spy 

Birch  tree — timber  had  no  value  in  that  country — 
but  unfortunately  Raften  had  quarrelled  with  all 
his  immediate  neighbours,  therefore  Burns  did  his  best 
to  make  a  fearful  crime  of  the  petty  depredation. 

His  valiant  son,  a  somewhat  smaller  boy  than  either 
Yan  or  Sam,  came  near  enough  to  the  boundary  to 
hurl  opprobrious  epithets. 

"Red-head — red-head!  You  red-headed  thief! 
Hoi'  on  till  my  paw  gits  hoi'  o'  you — Raften,  the 
Baften,  the  rick-strick  Straften,"  and  others  equally 
galling  and  even  more  exquisitely  refined. 

"War  party  escaped  and  saved  their  scalps,"  and 
Sam  placidly  laid  the  axe  in  its  usual  place. 

"Nothing  lost  but  honour,"  added  Yan.  "Who's 
the  kid?" 

"Oh,  that's  Guy  Bums.  I  know  him.  He's  a  mean 
little  cuss,  always  sneaking  and  peeking.  Lies  like 
sixty.  Got  the  prize — a  big  scrubbing-brush — for 
being  the  dirtiest  boy  in  school.  We  all  voted,  and 
the  teacher  gave  it  to  him." 

Next  day  the  boys  made  another  war  party  for 
Birch  bark,  but  had  hardly  begun  operations  when 
there  was  an  uproar  not  far  away,  and  a  voice,  evi 
dently  of  a  small  boy,  mouthing  it  largely,  trying  to 

pass  itself  off  as  a  man's  voice:  "Hi,  yer  the 

— : — .  Yer  git  off  my place " 

"  Le's  capture  the  little  cuss,  Yan. " 

"An'  burn  him  at  the  stake  with  horrid  torture," 
was  the  rejoinder. 

They  set  out  in  his  direction,  but  again  the  appear- 

219 


Two  Little  Savages 

ance  of  Burns  changed  their  war-party  onslaught  into 
a  rapid  retreat. 

(More  opprobrium.) 

During  the  days  that  followed  the  boys  were  often 
close  to  the  boundary,  but  it  happened  that  Burns 
was  working  near  and  Guy  had  the  quickest  of  eyes 
and  ears.  The  little  rat  seemed  ever  on  the  alert. 
He  soon  showed  by  his  long-distance  remarks  that  he 
knew  all  about  the  boys'  pursuits — had  doubtless 
visited  the  camp  in  their  absence.  Several  times 
they  saw  him  watching  them  with  intense  interest 
when  they  were  practising  with  bow  and  arrow,  but 
he  always  retreated  to  a  safe  distance  when  dis 
covered,  and  then  enjoyed  himself  breathing  out 
fire  and  slaughter. 

One  day  the  boys  came  to  the  camp  at  an  unusual 
hour.  On  going  into  a  near  thicket  Yan  saw  a  bare 
foot  under  some  foliage.  " Hallo,  what's  this?"  He 
stooped  down  and  found  a  leg  to  it  and  at  the  end  of 
that  Guy  Burns. 

Up  Guy  jumped,  yelling  "  Paw— PAW— PAW  !  "  He 
ran  for  his  life,  the  Indians  uttering  blood-cur dlers 
on  his  track.  But  Yan  was  a  runner,  and  Guy's 
podgy  legs,  even  winged  by  fear,  had  no  chance.  He 
was  seized  and  dragged  howling  back  to  the  camp. 

"You  let  me  alone,  you  Sam  Raften — now  you  let 
me  alone!"  There  was,  however,  a  striking  lack  of 
opprobrium  in  his  remarks  now.  (Such  delicacy  is 
highly  commendable  in  the  very  young.) 

"  First  thing  is  to  secure  the  prisoner,  Yan.  " 

220 


The  Hostile  Spy 

Sam  produced  a  cord. 

"Pooh,"  said  Yan.  "You've  got  no  style  about 
you.  Bring  me  some  Leatherwood. " 

This  was  at  hand,  and  in  spite  of  howls  and  scuffles, 
Guy  was  solemnly  tied  to  a  tree — a  green  one — 
because,  as  Yan  pointed  out,  that  would  resist  the 
fire  better. 

The  two  Warriors  now  squatted  cross-legged  by  the 
fire.  The  older  one  lighted  a  peace-pipe,  and  they 
proceeded  to  discuss  the  fate  of  the  unhappy 
captive. 

"Brother,"  said  Yan,  with  stately  gestures,  "it  is 
very  pleasant  to  hear  the  howls  of  this  miserable  pale 
face.  "  (It  was  really  getting  to  be  more  than  they 
could  endure.) 

"Ugh — heap  good,"  said  the  Woodpecker. 

"Ye  better  let  me  alone.  My  Paw  '11  fix  you  for 
this,  you  dirty  cowards,"  wailed  the  prisoner,  fast 
losing  control  of  his  tongue. 

"  Ugh  !  Take  um  scalp  first,  burn  him  after,  "  and 
Little  Beaver  made  some  expressive  signs. 

"Wah — bully — me  heap  wicked,"  rejoined  the 
Woodpecker,  expectorating  on  a  stone  and  beginning 
to  whet  his  jack-knife. 

The  keen  and  suggestive  "weet,  weet,  weet"  of  the 
knife  on  the  stone  smote  on  Guy's  ears  and  nerves 
with  appalling  effect. 

"Brother  Woodpecker,  the  spirit  of  our  tribe  calls 
out  for  the  blood  of  the  victim — all  of  it. " 

"Great  Chief  Woodpecker,  you  mean,"  said  Sam, 


221 


Two  Little  Savages 

aside.  "If  you  don't  call  me  Chief,  I  won't  call  you 
Chief,  that's  all." 

The  Great  Woodpecker  and  Little  Beaver  now 
entered  the  teepee,  repainted  each  other's  faces, 
adjusted  their  head-dresses  and  stepped  out  to  the 
execution. 

"The  Woodpecker  re-whetted  his  knife.  It  did  not 
need  it,  but  ne  liked  the  sound. 

Little  Beaver  now  carried  a  lot  of  light  firewood  and 
arranged  it  in  front  of  the  prisoner,  but  Guy's  legs  were 
free  and  he  gave  it  a  kick  which  sent  it  all  flying. 
The  two  War-chiefs  leaped  aside.  "Ugh!  Heap 
sassy,"  said  the  ferocious  Woodpecker.  "Tie  him 
legs,  oh,  Brother  Great  Chief  Little  Beaver!" 

A  new  bark  strip  tied  his  legs  securely  to  the  tree. 
Then  Chief  Woodpecker  approached  with  his  knife 
and  said: 

"  Great  Brother  Chief  Little  Beaver,  if  we  scalp  him 
there  is  only  one  scalp,  and  you  will  have  nothing  to 
show,  except  you're  content  with  the  wishbone." 

Here  was  a  difficulty,  artificial  yet  real,  but  Yan 
suggested : 

"Great  Brother  Chief  Red-headed-Woodpecker- 
Settm'-on-a-Stump-with-his-Tail-Waggling  -  over  -  the 
Edge,  no  scalp  him;  skin  his  hull  head,  then  each  take 
half  skin." 

"Wah!  Very  good,  oh  Brother  Big-Injun-Chief 
Great-Little-Beaver-Chaw-a-Tree-Down. ' ' 

Then  the  Woodpecker  got  a  piece  of  charcoal  and 
proceeded  in  horrid  gravity  to  mark  out  on  the  tow 

222 


The  Hostile  Spy 

hair  of  the  prisoner  just  what  he  considered  a  fair 
division.  Little  Beaver  objected  that  he  was  entitled 
to  an  ear  and  half  of  the  crown,  which  is  the  essential 
part  of  the  scalp.  The  Woodpecker  pointed  out  that 
fortunately  the  prisoner  had  a  cow-lick  that  was 
practically  a  second  crown.  This  ought  to  do  perfectly 
well  for  the  younger  Chief's  share.  The  charcoal  lines 
were  dusted  off  for  a  try-over.  Both  Chiefs  got  char 
coal  now  and  a  new  sketch  plan  was  made  on  Guy's 
tow  top  and  corrected  till  it  was  accepted  by  both. 

The  victim  had  really  never  lost  heart  till  now. 
His  flow  of  threats  and  epithets  had  been  continuous 
and  somewhat  tedious.  He  had  threatened  to  tell  his 
"paw"  and  "the  teacher,"  and  all  the  world,  but 
finally  he  threatened  to  tell  Mr.  Raften.  This  was 
the  nearest  to  a  home  thrust  of  any  yet,  and  in  some 
uneasiness  the  Woodpecker  turned  to  Little  Beaver 
and  said: 

"Brother  Chief,  do  you  comprehend  the  language 
of  the  blithering  Paleface?  What  does  he  say?" 

"Ugh,  I  know  not,"  was  the  reply.  "Maybe  he 
now  singeth  a  death  song  in  his  own  tongue.  " 

Guy  was  not  without  pluck.  He  had  kept  up  heart 
so  far  believing  that  the  boys  were  "  foolin',"  but  when 
he  felt  the  awful  charcoal  line  drawn  to  divide  his 
scalp  satisfactorily  between  these  two  inhuman, 
painted  monsters,  and  when  with  a  final  "weet,  weet, 
weet ' '  of  the  knife  on  the  stone  the  implacable  Wood 
pecker  approached  and  grabbed  his  tow  locks  in  one 
hand,  then  he  broke  down  and  wept  bitterly. 

225 


Two  Little  Savages 

"Oh,  please  don't Oh,  Paw  !  Oh,  Maw  !  Let 

me  go  this  time  an'  I'll  never  do  it  again.' '  What  he 
would  not  do  was  not  specified,  but  the  evidence  of 
surrender  was  complete. 

"Hold  on,  Great  Brother  Chief,"  said  Little 
Beaver.  "It  is  the  custom  of  the  tribes  to  release  or 
even  to  adopt  such  prisoners  as  have  shown  notable 
fortitude. " 

"Showed  fortitude  enough  for  six  if  it's  the  same 
thing  as  yellin',"  said  the  Woodpecker,  dropping 
into  his  own  vernacular. 

"  Let  us  cut  his  bonds  so  that  he  may  escape  to  his 
own  people. " 

"Thar'd  be  more  style  to  it  if  we  left  him  thar 
overnight  an'  found  next  mornin'  he  had  escaped 
somehow  by  himself,"  said  the  older  Chief.  The 
victim  noted  the  improvement  in  his  situation  and 
now  promised  amid  sobs  to  get  them  all  the  Birch 
bark  they  wanted — to  do  anything,  if  they  would 
let  him  go.  He  would  even  steal  for  them  the 
choicest  products  of  his  father's  orchard. 

Little  Beaver  drew  his  knife  and  cut  bond  after  bond. 

Woodpecker  got  his  bow  and  arrow,  remarking, 
"Ugh,  heap  fun  shoot  him  runnin'." 

The  last  bark  strip  was  cut.  Guy  needed  no 
urging.  He  ran  for  the  boundary  fence  in  silence 
till  he  got  over;  then  finding  himself  safe  and  unpur- 
sued,  he  filled  the  air  with  threats  and  execrations. 
No  part  of  his  statement  would  do  to  print  here. 

After  such  a  harrowing  experience  most  boys  would 

226 


The  Hostile  Spy 


have  avoided  that  swamp,  but  Guy  knew  Sam  at 
school  as  a  good-natured  fellow.  He  began  to  think 
he  had  been  unduly  scared.  He  was  impelled  by 
several  motives,  a  burning  curiosity  being,  perhaps, 
the  most  important.  The  result  was  that  one  day 
when  the  boys  came  to  camp  they  saw  Guy  sneaking 
off.  It  was  fun  to  capture  him  and  drag  him  back. 
He  was 'very  sullen,  and  not  so  noisy  as  the  other 
time,  evidently  less  scared.  The  Chiefs  talked  of  fire 
and  torture  and  of  ducking  him  in  the  pond  without 
getting  much  response.  Then  they  began  to  cross- 
examine  the  prisoner.  He  gave  no  answer.  Why 
did  he  come  to  the  camp  ?  What  was  he  doing — 
stealing?  etc.  He  only  looked  sullen. 

"Let's  blindfold  him  and  drive  a  Gyascutus  down  his 
back,"  said  Yan  in  a  hollow  voice. 

"Good  idee,"  agreed  Sam,  not  knowing  any  more 
than  the  prisoner  what  a  Gyascutus  was.  Then  he 
added,  "just  as  well  be  merciful.  It'll  put  him  out 
o'  pain." 

It  is  the  unknown  that  terrifies.  The  prisoner's 
soul  was  touched  again.  His  mouth  was  trembling 
at  the  corners.  He  was  breaking  down  when  Yan 
followed  it  up:  "Then  why  don't  you  tell  us  what 
you  are  doing  here?" 

He  blubbered  out,  "  I  want  to  play  Injun,  too." 

The  boys  broke  down  in  another  way.  They  had 
not  had  time  to  paint  their  faces,  so  that  their 
expressions  were  very  clear  on  this  occasion. 

Then  Little  Beaver  arose  and  addressed  the  Council. 


22' 


Two  Little  Savages 

"Great  Chiefs  of  the  Sanger  Nation:  The  last  time 
we  tortured  and  burned  to  death  this  prisoner,  he 
created  quite  an  impression.  Never  before  has  one 
of  our  prisoners  shown  so  many  different  kinds  of 
gifts.  I  vote  to  receive  him  into  the  Tribe." 

The  Woodpecker  now  arose  and  spoke: 

"O  wisest  Chief  but  one  in  this  Tribe,  that's  all  right 
enough,  but  you  know  that  no  warrior  can  join  us 
without  first  showing  that  he's  good  stuff  and  clear 
grit,  all  wool,  and  a  cut  above  the  average  somehow. 
It  hain't  never  been  so.  Now  he's  got  to  lick  some 
Warrior  of  the  Tribe.  Kin  you  do  that  ?" 

"Nope." 

"Or  outrun  one  or  outshoot  him  or  something — 
or  give  us  all  a  present.  What  kin  you  do?" 

"I  kin  steal  watermillyons,  an'  I  kin  see  farder'n 
any  boy  in  school,  an'  I  kin  sneak  to  beat  all  creation. 
I  watched  you  fellers  lots  of  times  from  them  bushes. 
I  watched  you  buildin'  that  thar  dam.  /  swum 
in  it  'fore  you  did,  an'  I  uster  set  an'  smoke  in  your 
teepee  when  you  wasn't  thar,  an'  I  heerdyou  talk  the 
time  you  was  fixin'  up  to  steal  our  Birch  bark." 

"Don't  seem  to  me  like  it  all  proves  much  forti 
tude.  Have  you  got  any  presents  for  the  oldest  head 
Chief  of  the  tribe?" 

"I'll  get  you  all  the  Birch  bark  you  want.  I  can't  git 
what  you  cut,  coz  me  an'  Paw  burned  that  so  you 
couldn't  git  it,  but  I'll  git  you  lots  more,  an'  maybe — 
I'll  steal  you  a  chicken  once  in  awhile." 

"His  intentions  are  evidently  honourable  Let's 
take  him  in  on  sufferance,"  said  Yan. 

aa8 


The  Hostile  Spy 

"All  right,"  replied  the  head  Chief,  "he  kin  come  in, 
but  that  don't  spile  my  claim  to  that  left  half  of  his 
scalp  down  to  that  tuft  of  yellow  moss  on  the  scruff 
of  his  neck  where  the  collar  has  wore  off  the  dirt.  I'm 
liable  to  call  for  it  any  time,  an'  the  ear  goes  with  it." 

Guy  wanted  to  treat  this  as  a  joke,  but  Sam's 
glittering  eyes  and  inscrutable  face  v/ere  centered 
hungrily  on  that  "yaller  tuft"  in  a  way  that  gave  him 
the  "creeps"  again. 

"Say,  Yan — I  mean  Great  Little  Beaver — you  know 
all  about  it,  what  kind  o'  stunts  did  they  have  to  do  to 
get  into  an  Injun  tribe,  anyhow?" 

"Different  tribes  do  different  ways,  but  the  Sun 
Dance  and  the  Fire  Test  are  the  most  respectable 
and  both  terribly  hard." 

"Well,  what  did  you  do  ?"  queried  the  Great  Wood 
pecker. 

"Both,"  said  Yan  grinning,  as  he  remembered  his 
sunburnt  arms  and  shoulders. 

"Quite  sure?"  said  the  older  Chief  in  a  tone  of 
doubt. 

"Yes,  sir;  and  I  bore  it  so  well  that  every  one  there 
agreed  that  I  was  the  best  one  in  the  Tribe,"  said 
Little  Beaver,  omitting  to  mention  the  fact  that  he 
was  the  only  one  in  it.  "I  was  unanimously  named 
'Howling  Sunrise.'  ' 

"Well,  I  want  to  be  'Howling  Sunrise,'  "  piped 
Guy  in  his  shrill  voice. 

"You?  You  don't  know  whether  you  can  pass  at 
all,  you  Yaller  Mossback." 

229 


Two  Little  Savages 

"Come,  Mossy,  which  will  you  do?" 

Guy's  choice  was  to  be  sunburnt  to  the  waist.  He 
was  burnt  and  freckled  already  to  the  shoulders,  on 
arms  as  well  as  on  neck,  and  his  miserable  cotton 
shirt  so  barely  turned  the  sun's  rays  that  he  was 
elsewhere  of  a  deep  yellow  tinge  with  an  occasional 
constellation  of  freckles.  Accordingly  he  danced 
about  camp  all  one  day  with  nothing  on  but  his  pants, 
and,  of  course,  being  so  seasoned,  he  did  not  burn. 

As  the  sun  swung  low  the  Chiefs  assembled  in 
Council. 

The  head  Chief  looked  over  the  new  Warrior,  shook 
his  head  gravely  and  said  emphatically:  "Too  green 
to  burn.  Your  name  is  Sap  wood." 

Protest  was  in  vain.  "Sappy,"  he  was  and  had 
to  be  until  he  won  a  better  name.  The  peace  pipe 
was  smoked  all  round  and  he  was  proclaimed  third 
War  Chief  c«£  the  Sanger  Indians  (the  word  War 
inserted  by  special  request). 

He  was  quite  the  most  harmless  member  of  the  band 
and  therefore  took  unusual  pleasure  in  posing  as  the 
possessor  of  a  perennial  thirst  for  human  heart -blood. 
War-paint  was  his  delight,  and  with  its  aid  he  was 
singularly  successful  in  correcting  his  round  and 
smiling  face  into  a  savage  visage  of  revolting  ferocity. 
Paint  was  his  hobby  and  his  pride,  but  alas  !  how 
often  it  happens  one's  deepest  sorrow  is  in  the  midst 
of  one's  greatest  joy — the  deepest  lake  is  the  old 
crater  on  top  of  the  highest  mountain.  Sappy's  eyes 
were  not  the  sinister  black  beads  of  the  wily  Red-man, 

230 


The  Hostile  Spy 

but  a  washed-out  blue.  His  ragged,  tow-coloured 
locks  he  could  hide  under  wisps  of  horsehair,  the 
paint  itself  redeemed  his  freckled  skin,  but  there  was 
no  remedy  for  the  white  eyelashes  and  the  pale,  piggy, 
blue  eyes.  He  kept  his  sorrow  to  himself,  however, 
for  he  knew  that  if  the  others  got  an  inkling  of  his 
feelings  on  the  subject  his  name  would  have  been 
promptly  changed  to  "Dolly"  or  "Birdy, "  or  some 
other  equally  horrible  and  un-Indian  appellation. 


231 


XIV 


The  Quarrel 

SAY,  Yan,  I  saw  a  Blood-Robin  this  morning. " 
"That's  a  new  one,"  said  Yan,  in  a  tone  of  doubt. 
"Well,  it's  the  purtiest  bird  in  the  country." 

4 '  What  ?     A  Humming-bird  ? ' ' 

"Na-aw-w-w.     They  ain't  purty,  only  small." 

"Well,  that  shows  what  you  know,"  retorted  Yan, 
"  'for  these  exquisite  winged  gems  are  at  once  the 
most  diminutive  and  brilliantly  coloured  of  the  whole 
feathered  race.' "  This  phrase  Yan  had  read  some 
where  and  his  overapt  memory  had  seized  on  it. 

"Pshaw!"  said  Sam.  "Sounds  like  a  book,  but 
I'll  bet  I  seen  hundreds  of  Hummin'-birds  round  the 
Trumpet-vine  and  Bee-balm  in  the  garden,  an'  they 
weren't  a  millionth  part  as  purty  as  this.  Why,  it's 
just  as  red  as  blood,  shines  like  fire  and  has  black 
wings.  The  old  Witch  says  the  Indians  call  it  a  War- 
bird  'cause  when  it  flew  along  the  trail  there  was  sure 
going  to  be  war,  which  is  like  enough,  fur  they  wuz  at 
it  all  the  hull  time." 

"Oh,  I  know,"  said  Yan.  "A  Scarlet  Tanager. 
Where  did  you  see  it  ? " 

"Why,  it  came  from  the  trees,  then  alighted  on  the 
highest  pole  of  the  teepee.  " 


232 


The  Quarrel 

"  Hope  there  isn't  going  to  be  any  war  there,  Sam. 
I  wish  I  had  one  to  stuff." 

"Tried  to  get  him  for  you,  sonny,  spite  of  the  Rules. 
Could  'a'  done  it,  too,  with  a  gun.  Had  a  shy  at  him 
with  an  arrow  an'  I  hain't  seen  bird  or  arrow  since. 
'Twas  my  best  arrow,  too — old  Sure-Death." 

"Will  ye  give  me  the  arrow  if  I  kin  find  it?"  said 
Guy. 

"Now  you  bet  I  won't.  What  good'd  that  be  to 
me?" 

"Will  you  give  me  your  chewin'  gum?" 

"No."' 

"Will  you  lend  it  to  me?" 

"Yep." 

"Well,  there's  your  old  arrow,  "  said  Guy,  pulling  it 
from  between  the  logs  where  it  had  fallen.  "I  seen 
it  go  there  an'  reckoned  I'd  lay  low  an'  watch  the 
progress  of  events,  as  Yan  says, "  and  Guy  whinnied. 

Early  in  the  morning  the  Indians  in  war-paint 
went  off  on  a  prowl.  They  carried  their  bows  and 
arrows,  of  course,  and  were  fully  alert,  studying  the 
trail  at  intervals  and  listening  for  "signs  of  the 
enemy." 

Their  moccasined  feet  gave  forth  no  sound,  and 
their  keen  eyes  took  in  every  leaf  that  stirred  as 
their  sinewy  forms  glided  among  the  huge  trunks  of 
the  primeval  vegetation — at  least,  Yan's  note-book 
said  they  did.  They  certainly  went  with  very  little 
noise,  but  they  disturbed  a  small  Hawk  that  flew  from 
a  Balsam-fir — a  "Fire  tree"  they  now  called  it,  since 

233 


Two  Little  Savages 

they  had  discovered  the  wonderful  properties  of  the 
wood. 

Three  arrows  were  shot  after  it  and  no  harm  done. 
Yan  then  looked  into  the  tree  and  exclaimed: 

"A  nest." 

"  Looks  to  me  like  a  fuzz-ball,  "  said  Guy. 

"Guess  not,"  replied  Yan.  "Didn't  we  scare  the 
Hawk  off?" 

He  was  a  good  climber,  quite  the  best  of  the  three, 
and  dropping  his  head-dress,  coat,  leggings  and 
weapon,  she  shinned  up  the  Balsam  trunk,  utterly 
regardless  of  the  gum  which  hung  in  crystalline  drops 
or  easily  burst  bark-bladders  on  every  part. 

He  was  no  sooner  out  of  sight  in  the  lower  branches 
than  Satan  entered  into  Guy's  small  heart  and 
prompted  him  thus: 

"  Le's  play  a  joke  on  him  an'  clear  out.  " 

Sam's  sense  of  humour  beguiled  him.  They  stuffed 
Yan's  coat  and  pants  with  leaves  and  rubbish,  put 
them  properly  together  with  the  head-dress,  then 
stuck  one  of  his  own  arrows  through  the  breast  of  the 
coat  into  the  ground  and  ran  away. 

Meanwhile  Yan  reached  the  top  of  the  tree  and 
found  that  the  nest  was  only  one  of  the  fuzz-balls  so 
common  on  Fir  trees.  He  called  out  to  his  comrades 
but  got  no  reply,  so  came  down.  At  first  the  ridicu 
lous  dummy  seemed  funny,  then  he  found  that  his 
coat  had  been  injured  and  the  arrow  broken.  He 
called  for  his  companions,  but  got  no  answer;  again 
and  again,  without  reply.  He  went  to  where  they 


234 


The  Quarrel 

all  had  intended  going,  but  if  they  were  there  they 
hid  from  him,  and  feeling  himself  scurvily  deserted 
he  went  back  to  camp  in  no  very  pleasant  humour. 
They  were  not  there.  He  sat  by  the  fire  awhile, 
then,  yielding  to  his  habit  of  industry,  he  took  off  his 
coat  and  began  to  work  at  the  dam. 

He  became  engrossed  in  his  work  and  did  not 
notice  the  return  of  the  runaways  till  he  heard  a 
voice  saying  "What's  this?" 

On  turning  he  saw  Sam  poring  over  his  private 
note-book  and  then  beginning  to  read  aloud: 

"  Ktngbirdt  fearless  crested  Kingbird 
Thou  art » 

But  Yan  snatched  it  out  of  his  hands. 

"I'll  bet  the  rest  was  something  about  'Singbird,'" 
said  Sam. 

Yan's  face  was  burning  with  shame  and  anger. 
He  had  a  poetic  streak,  and  was  morbidly  sensitive 
about  any  one  seeing  its  product.  The  Kingbird 
episode  of  their  long  evening  walk  was  but  one  of 
many  similar.  He  had  learned  to  delight  in  these 
daring  attacks  of  the  intrepid  little  bird  on  the  Hawks 
and  Crows,  and  so  magnified  them  into  high  heroics 
until  he  must  try  to  record  them  in  rhyme.  It  was 
very  serious  to  him,  and  to  have  his  sentiments  afford 
sport  to  the  others  was  more  than  he  could  bear.  Of 
course  Guy  came  out  and  grinned,  taking  his  cue  from 
Sam.  Then  he  remarked  in  colourless  tones,  as  though 
announcing  an  item  of  general  news,  "They  say  there 
was  a  fearless-crested  Injun  shot  in  the  woods  to-day.  " 

235 


Two  Little  Savages 

The  morning's  desertion  left  Yan  in  no  mocd  lor 
chaffing.  He  rightly  attributed  the  discourtesy  to 
Guy.  Turning  savagely  toward  him  he  said, 
meaningly : 

"Now,  no  more  of  your  sass,  you  dirty  little 
sneak." 

"I  ain't  talkin'  to  you,"  Guy  snickered,  and 
followed  Sam  into  the  teepee.  There  were  low  voices 
within  for  a  time.  Yan  went  over  toward  the  dam 
and  began  to  plug  mud  into  some  possible  holes. 
Presently  there  was  more  snickering  in  the  teepee, 
then  Guy  came  out  alone,  struck  a  theatrical  atti 
tude  and  began  to  recite  to  a  tree  above  Yan's 
head : 

"  Kingbird,  fearless  crested  Kingbird, 
Thou  art  but  a  blooming  sing  bird " 


But  the  mud  was  very  handy  and  Yan  hurled  a 
mass  that  spattered  Guy  thoroughly  and  sent  him 
giggling  into  the  teepee. 

"Them's  the  bow-kays,"  Sam  was  heard  to  say. 
"  Go  out  an'  git  some  more ;  dead  sure  you  deserve  'em. 
Let  me  know  when  the  calls  for  '  author '  begin  ? ' ' 
Then  there  was  more  giggling.  Yan  was  fast  losing 
all  control  of  himself.  He  seized  a  big  stick  and 
strode  into  the  teepee,  but  Sam  lifted  the  cover  of 
the  far  side  and  slipped  out.  Guy  tried  to  do  the 
same,  but  Yan  caught  him. 

"Here,  I  ain't  doin'  nothin'." 

The  answer  was  a  sounding  whack  which  made  him 
wriggle. 

236 


The  Quarrel 

"You  let  me  alone,  you  big  coward.  I  ain't  doin* 
nothin'  to  you.  You  better  let  me  alone.  Sam ! 
S-A-M  !  S-A-A-A-M  ! ! !"  as  the  stick  came  down  again 
and  again. 

"Don't  bother  me,"  shouted  Sam  outside.  ''I'm 
writin'  poethry — terrible  partic'lar  job.  poethry.  He 
only  means  it  in  kindness,  anyhow." 

Guy  was  screaming  now  and  weeping  copiously. 

"You'll get  some  more  if  you  give  me  any  more  of 
your  lip,"  said  Yan,  and  stepped  out  to  meet  Sam  with 
the  note-book  again,  apparently  scribbling  away. 
As  soon  as  he  saw  Yan  he  stood  up,  cleared  his 
throat  and  began: 

"  Kingbird,  fearless  crested " 


But  he  did  not  finish  it.  Yan  struck  him  a  savage 
blow  on  the  mouth.  Sam  sprang  back  a  few  steps. 
Yan  seized  a  large  stone. 

"Don't  you  throw  that  at  me,"  said  Sam  seriously. 
Yan  sent  it  with  his  deadliest  force  and  aim.  Sam 
dodged  it  and  then  in  self-defense  ran  at  Yan  and 
they  grappled  and  fought,  while  Guy,  eager  for 
revenge,  rushed  to  help  Sam,  and  got  in  a  few  trifling 
blows. 

Sam  was  heavier  and  stronger  than  Yan,  but  Yan 
had  gained  wonderfully  since  coming  to  Sanger. 
He  was  thin,  but  wiry,  and  at  school  he  had  learned 
the  familiar  hip -throw  that  is  as  old  as  Cain  and  Abel. 
It  was  all  he  did  know  of  wrestling,  but  now  it  stood 
him  in  good  stead.  He  was  strong  with  rage,  too — 

237 


Two  Little  Savages 

and  almost  as  soon  as  they  grappled  he  found  his 
chance.  Sam's  heels  flew  up  and  he  went  sprawling 
in  the  dust.  One  straight  blow  on  the  nose  sent  Guy 
off  howling,  and  seeing  Sam  once  more  on  his  feet, 
Yan  rushed  at  him  again  like  a  wild  beast.  A 
moment  later  the  big  boy  went  tumbling  over  the 
bank  into  the  pond. 

"  You  see  if  I  don't  get  you  sent  about  your  busi 
ness  from  here,"  spluttered  Sam,  now  thoroughly 
angry.  "I'll  tell  Da  you  hender  the  wurruk."  His 
eyes  were  full  of  water  and  Guy's  were  full  of  stars 
and  of  tears.  Neither  saw  the  fourth  party  near; 
but  Yan  did.  There,  not  twenty  yards  away,  stood 
William  Raften,  spectator  of  the  whole  affair — an 
expression  not  of  anger  but  of  infinite  sorrow  and 
disappointment  on  his  face — not  because  they  had 
quarrelled — no — he  knew  boy  nature  well  enough 
not  to  give  that  a  thought — but  that  his  son,  older 
and  stronger  than  the  other  and  backed  by  another 
boy,  should  be  licked  in  fair  fight  by  a  thin,  half- 
in  valid. 

It  was  as  bitter  a  pill  as  he  had  ever  had  to  swallow. 
He  turned  in  silence  and  disappeared,  and  never 
afterward  alluded  to  the  matter. 


238 


There  stood  Raften,  spectator  of  the  whole  affair  " 


XV 
The  Peace  of  Minnie 

THAT  night  the  two  avoided  each  other.  Yan  ate 
but  little,  and  to  Mrs.  Raf ten's  kindly  solicit 
ous  questions  he  said  he  was  not  feeling  well. 

After  supper  they  were  sitting  around  the  table, 
the  men  sleepily  silent,  Yan  and  Sam  moodily  so. 
Yan  had  it  all  laid  out  in  his  mind  now.  Sam  would 
make  a  one-sided  report  of  the  affair;  Guy  would 
sustain  him.  Raften  himself  was  witness  of  Yan's 
violence. 

The  merry  days  at  Sanger  were  over.  He  was 
doomed,  and  felt  like  a  condemned  felon  awaiting 
the  carrying  out  of  the  sentence.  There  was  only 
one  lively  member  of  the  group.  That  was  little 
Miir'iie.  She  was  barely  three,  but  a  great  chatter 
box.  Like  all  children,  she  dearly  loved  a  "secret," 
and  one  of  her  favourite  tricks  was  to  beckon  to 
some  one,  laying  her  pinky  finger  on  her  pinker  lips, 
and  then  when  they  stooped  she  would  whisper  in 
their  ear,  "Don't  tell."  That  was  all.  It  washer 
idea  of  a  "seek-it." 

She  was  playing  at  her  brother's  knee.  He 
picked  her  up  and  they  whispered  to  each  other, 
then  she  scrambled  down  and  went  to  Yan.  He 


241 


Two  Little  Savages 

lifted  her  with  a  tenderness  that  was  born  of  the 
thought  that  she  alone  loved  him  now.  She  beckoned 
his  head  down,  put  her  chubby  arms  around  his 
neck  and  whispered,  "Don't  tell,"  then  slid  down, 
holding  her  dear  innocent  little  finger  warningly 
before  her  mouth. 

What  did  it  mean?  Had  Sam  told  her  to  do  that, 
or  was  it  a  mere  repetition  of  her  old  trick?  No 
matter,  it  brought  a  rush  of  warm  feeling  into  Yan's 
heart.  He  coaxed  the  little  cherub  back  and 
whispered,  "No,  Minnie,  I'll  never  tell."  He  began 
to  see  how  crazy  he  had  been.  Sam  was  such  a  good 
fellow,  he  was  very  fond  of  him,  and  he  wanted  to 
make  up ;  but  no — with  Sam  holding  threats  of 
banishment  over  him,  he  could  not  ask  for  forgiveness. 
No,  he  would  do  nothing  but  wait  and  see. 

He  met  Mr.  Raften  again  and  again  that  evening 
and  nothing  was  said.  He  slept  little  that  night 
and  was  up  early.  He  met  Mr.  Raften  alone — rather 
tried  to  meet  him  alone.  He  wanted  to  have  it  over 
with.  He  was  one  of  the  kind  not  prayed  for  in  the 
Litany  that  crave  "sudden  death."  But  Raften 
was  unchanged.  At  breakfast  Sam  was  as  usual, 
except  to  Yan,  and  not  very  different  to  him.  He 
had  a  swelling  on  his  lip  that  he  said  he  got  "tuss.lin' 
with  the  boys  somehow  or  nuther." 

After  breakfast  Raften  said: 

"Yahn,  I  want  you  to  come  with  me  to  the 
schoolhouse." 

"It's  come  at  last,"   thought  Yan,  for  the  school- 

242 


The  Peace  of  Minnie 

nouse  was  on  the  road  to  the  railroad  station.  But 
why  did  not  Raften  say  "the  station  "  ?  He  was  not  a 
man  to  mince  words.  Nothing  was  said  about  his 
handbag  either,  and  there  was  no  room  for  it  in  the 
buggy  anyway. 

Raften  drove  in  silence.  There  was  nothing 
unusual  in  that.  At  length  he  said  : 

"Yahn,  what's  yer  father  goin'  to  make  of  ye  ?" 

"An  artist,"  said  Yan,  wondering  what  this  had  to 
do  with  his  dismissal. 

"Does  an  artist  hev  to  be  bang-up  eddicated?" 

"They're  all  the  better  for  it." 

"Av  coorse,  av  coorse,  that's  what  I  tell  Sam. 
It's  eddication  that  counts.  Does  artists  make 
much  money?" 

"Yes,  some  of  them.  The  successful  ones  some 
times  make  millions." 

"Millions?  I  guess  not.  Ain't  you  stretchin' 
it  just  a  leetle?" 

"No,  sir.  Turner  made  a  million.  Titian  lived 
in  a  palace,  and  so  did  Raphael." 

"Hm.  Don't  know  'em,  but  maybe  so — maybe 
so.  It's  wonderful  what  eddication  does — that's 
what  I  tell  Sam." 

They  now  drew  near  the  schoolhouse.  It  was 
holiday  time,  but  the  door  was  open  and  on  the  steps 
were  two  graybearded  men.  They  nodded  to  Raften. 
These  men  were  the  school  trustees.  One  of  them 
was  Char-less  Boyle;  the  other  was  old  Moore,  poor  as 
a  church  mouse,  but  a  genial  soul,  and  really  put  on 


243 


Two  Little  Savages 

the  Board  as  a  lubricant  between  Boyle  and  Raften. 
Boyle  was  much  the  more  popular.  But  Raften 
was  always  made  trustee,  for  the  people  knew  that 
he  would  take  extremely  good  care  of  funds  and 
school  as  well  as  of  "scholars. 

This  was  a  special  meeting  called  to  arrange  for 
a  new  schoolhouse.  Raften  got  out  a  lot  of  papers, 
including  letters  from  the  Department  of  Education. 
The  School  District  had  to  find  half  the  money;  the 
Department  would  supply  the  other  half  if  all  con 
ditions  were  complied  with.  Chief  of  these,  the 
schoolhouse  had  to  have  a  given  number  of  cubic  feet 
of  air  for  each  pupil.  This  was  very  important,  but 
how  were  they  to  know  in  advance  if  they  had  the 
minimum  and  were  not  greatly  over.  It  would  not  do 
to  ask  the  Department  that.  They  could  not  consult 
the  teacher,  for  he  was  away  now  and  probably  would 
cheat  them  with  more  air  than  was  needed.  It  was 
Raften  who  brilliantly  solved  this  frightful  mathe 
matical  problem  and  discovered  a  doughty  champion 
in  the  thin,  bright-eyed  child. 

"Yahn,"  he  said,  offering  him  a  two-foot  rule,  "can 
ye  tell  me  how  many  foot  of  air  is  in  this  room  for 
every  scholar  when  the  seats  is  full?" 

"You  mean  cubic  feet?" 

"Le's  see,"  and  Raften  and  Moore,  after  stabbing 
at  the  plans  with  huge  forefingers  and  fumbling 
cumberously  at  the  much-pawed  documents, 
said  together:  "Yes,  it  says  cubic  feet."  Yan 
quickly  measured  the  length  of  the  room  and  took 

244 


The  Peace  of  Minnie 

the  height  with  the  map-lifter.  The  three  graybeards 
gazed  with  awe  and  admiration  as  they  saw  how 
sure  he  seemed.  He  then  counted  the  seats  and  said, 
"Do  you  count  the  teacher  ?"  The  men  discussed  this 
point,  then  decided,  "Maybe  ye  better;  he  uses 
more  wind  than  any  of  them.  Ha,  ha  !" 

Yan  made  a  few  figures  on  paper,  then  said,  "Twenty 
feet,  rather  better." 

"Luk  at  thot,"  said  Raften  in  a  voice  of  bullying 
and  triumph;  "jest  agrees  with  the  Gover'ment 
Inspector.  I  toidd  ye  he  could.  Now  let's  put  the 
new  buildin'  to  test." 

More  papers  were  pawed  over. 

"Yahn,  how's  this — double  as  many  children,  one 
teacher  an'  the  buildin'  so  an'  so." 

Yan  figured  a  minute  and  said,  "Twenty-five  feet 
each." 

"Thar,  didn't  I  tell  ye,"  thundered  Raften;  "didn't 
I  say  that  that  dhirty  swindler  of  an  architect  was 
playing  us  into  the  conthractor's  hands — thought  we 
wuz  simple — a  put-up  job,  the  hull  durn  thing. 
Luk  at  it !  They're  nothing  but  a  gang  of  thieves." 

Yan  glanced  at  the  plan  that  was  being  nourished 
in  the  air. 

"Hold  on,"  he  said,  with  an  air  of  authority  that 
he  certainly  never  before  had  used  to  Raften,  "there's 
the  lobby  and  cloak-room  to  come  off."  He  subtracted 
their  bulk  and  found  the  plan  all  right — the  Govern 
ment  minimum  of  air. 

Boyle's    eye    had    now    just     a    little    gleam    of 

245 


Two  Little  Savages 

triumphant  malice.  Raften  seemed  actually  disap 
pointed  not  to  have  found  some  roguery. 

"Well,  they're  a  shcaly  lot,  anyhow.  They'll 
bear  wat  chin',"  he  added,  intones  of  self-justification. 

"Now,  Yahn,  last  year  the  township  was  assessed 
at  $265,000  an'  we  raised  $265  with  a  school-tax  of 
wan  mill  on  the  dollar.  This  year  the  new  assess 
ment  gives  $291,400;  how  much  will  the  same  tax 
raise  if  cost  of  collecting  is  same  ?" 

"Two  hundred  and  ninety-one  dollars  and  forty 
cents,"  said  Yan,  without  hesitation — and  the  three 
men  sat  back  in  their  chairs  and  gasped. 

It  was  the  triumph  of  his  life.  Even  old  Boyle 
beamed  in  admiration,  and  Raften  glowed,  feeling 
that  not  a  little  of  it  belonged  to  him. 

There  was  something  positively  pathetic  in  the 
simplicity  of  the  three  shrewd  men  and  their  abject 
reverence  for  the  wonderful  scholarship  of  this  raw 
boy,  and  not  less  touching  was  their  absolute  faith  in 
his  infallibility  as  a  mathematician. 

Raften  grinned  at  him  in  a  peculiar,  almost  a 
weak  way.  Yan  had  never  seen  that  expression  on 
his  face  before,  excepting  once,  and  that  was  as  he 
shook  hands  with  a  noted  pugilist  just  after  he  had 
won  a  memorable  fight.  Yan  did  not  know  whether 
he  liked  it  or  not. 

On  the  road  home  Raften  talked  with  unusual 
freeness  about  his  plans  for  his  son.  (Yan  began  to 
realize  that  the  storm  had  blown  over.)  He  harped 
on  his  favourite  theme,  "eddication."  If  Yan  had 

246 


The  Peace  of  Minnie 

only  known,  that  was  the  one  word  of  comfort  that 
Raften  found  when  he  saw  his  big  boy  go  down:  "It's 
eddication  done  it.  Oh,  but  he's  fine  eddicated." 
Yan  never  knew  until  years  afterward,  when  a  grown 
-  man  and  he  and  Raften  were  talking  of  the  old  days, 
that  he  had  been  for  some  time  winning  respect 
from  the  rough-and-ready  farmer,  but  what  finally 
raised  him  to  glorious  eminence  was  the  hip-throw 
that  he  served  that  day  on  Sam. 

Raften  was  all  right,  Yan  believed,  but  what  of 
Sam?  They  had  not  spoken  yet.  Yan  wished  to 
make  up,  but  it  grew  harder.  Sam  had  got  over  his 
wrath  and  wanted  a  chance,  but  did  not  know  how. 

He  had  just  set  down  his  two  buckets  after  feeding 
the  pigs  when  Minnie  came  toddling  out. 

"Sam!  Sam!  Take  Minnie  to  'ide,"  then  seeing 
Yan  she  added,  "Yan,  you  mate  a  tair,  tate  hold 
Sam's  hand. " 

The  queen  must  be  obeyed.  Sam  and  Ye  i  sheep 
ishly  grasped  hands  to  make  a  queen's  chair  for  the 
little  lady.  She  clutched  them  both  around  the  neck 
and  brought  their  heads  close  together.  They  both 
loved  the  pink-and-white  baby  between  them,  and 
both  could  talk  to  her  though  not  to  each  other.  But 
there  is  something  in  touch  that  begets  comprehen 
sion.  The  situation  was  becoming  ludicrous  when 
Sam  suddenly  burst  out  laughing,  then: 

"Say,  Yan,  let's  be  friends." 

"I — I  want — to — be,"  stammered  Yan,  with  tears 


247 


Two  Little  Savages 

standing  in  his  eyes.     "  I'm  awfully  sorry.     I'll  never 
do  it  again. " 

"Oh,  shucks!  I  don't  care,  "said  Sam.  "It  was 
all  that  dirty  little-  sneak  that  made  the  trouble ;  but 
never  mind,  it's  all  right.  The  only  thing  that 
worries  me  is  how  you  sent  me  flying.  I'm  bigger 
an'  stronger  an'  older,  I  can  heft  more  an'  work 
harder,  but  you  throwed  me  like  a  bag  o'  shavings. 
I  only  wish  I  knowed  how  you  done  it. " 


248 


PART    III 
IN  THE  WOODS 


Really  in  the  Woods 


E  seem  to  waste  a   powerful  lot  o' 
time    goin'    up    an'   down  to    yer 
camp;  why  don't   ye  stay   thayer 
altogether?"  said  Raften  one  day, 
in  the  colourless  style  that  always 
worried  every  one,  for  they  did  not 
know  whether  it  wras  really  meant 
or  was  mere  sarcasm. 
"Suits   me.     'Tain't   our   choice   to   come   home," 
replied  his  son. 

"We'd  like  nothing  better  than  to  sleep  there, 
too,"  said  Yan. 

"Well,  why  don't  ye?  That's  what  I'd  do  if  I 
was  a  boy  playin'  Injun;  I'd  go  right  in  an'  play." 

"All  right  now"  drawled  Sam  (he  always  drawled 
in  proportion  to  his  emphasis),  "that  suits  us;  now 
we're  a-going  sure." 

"All  right,  bhoys,"  said  Raften;  "but  mind  ye 
the  pigs  an'  cattle's  to  be  'tended  to  every  day." 

"Is  that  what  ye  call  lettin'  us  camp  out — come 
home  to  work  jest  the  same?" 

"No,  no,  William,"  interposed  Mrs.  Raften;  "that's 
not  fair.  That's  no  way  to  give  them  a  holiday. 


251 


Two  Little  Savages 

Either  do  it  or  don't.  Surely  one  of  the  men  can 
do  the  chores  for  a  month." 

"Month — I  didn't  say  nothin*  about  a  month." 

"Well,  why  don't  you  now?" 

"Whoi,  a  month  would  land  us  into  harvest," 
and  William  had  the  air  of  a  man  at  bay,  finding 
them  all  against  him. 

"I'll  do  Yahn's  chores  for  a  fortnight  if  he'll  give 
me  that  thayer  pictur  he  drawed  of  the  place," 
now  came  in  Michel's  voice  from  the  far  end  of  the 
table — "except  Sunday,"  he  added,  remembering  a 
standing  engagement,  which  promised  to  result  in 
something  of  vast  importance  to  him. 

"Wall,  I'll  take  care  o'  them  Sundays,"  said  Si 
Lee. 

"Yer  all  agin  me,"  grumbled  William  with  comical 
perplexity.  "But  bhoys  ought  to  be  bhoys.  Ye 
kin  go." 

"Whoop  !"  yelled  Sam. 

"Hooray  !"  joined  in  Yan,  with  even  more  interest 
though  with  less  unrestraint. 

"But  howld  on,  I  ain't  through " 

"I  say,  Da,"  we  want  your  gun.  We  can't  go 
camping  without  a  gun." 

"Howld  on,  now.  Give  me  a  chance  to  finish. 
Ye  can  go  fur  two  weeks,  but  ye  got  to  go;  no  snakin' 
home  nights  to  sleep.  Ye  can't  hev  no  matches 
an'  no  gun.  I  won't  hev  a  lot  o'  children  foolin' 
wid  a  didn't-know-it-was-loaded,  an'  shootin'  all 
the  birds  and  squirrels  an'  each  other,  too.  Ye  kin 


252 


Really  in  the  Woods 

hev  yer  bows  an'  arrows  an'  ye  ain't  likely  to  do  no 
harrum.  Ye  kin  hev  all  the  mate  an'  bread  an'  stuff 
ye  want,  but  ye  must  cook  it  yerselves,  an'  if  I  see 
any  signs  of  settin'  the  woods  afire  I'll  be  down  wid 
the  rawhoide  an'  cut  the  very  livers  out  o'  ye." 

The  rest  of  the  morning  was  devoted  to  preparation, 
Mrs.  Raften  taking  the  leading  hand. 

"Now,  who's  to  be  cook?"  she  asked. 

"Sam" — "Yan" — said  the  boys  in  the  same 
breath. 

"Hm!  You  seem  in  one  mind  about  it.  Sup 
pose  you  take  it  turn  and  turn  about — Sam  first 
day." 

Then  followed  instructions  for  making  coffee  in 
the  morning,  boiling  potatoes,  frying  bacon.  Bread 
and  butter  enough  they  were  to  take  with  them — 
eggs,  too. 

"You  better  come  home  for  milk  every  day  or 
every  other  day,  at  least,"  remarked  the  mother. 

"We'd  ruther  steal  it  from  the  cows  in  the  pasture," 
ventured  Sam,  "seems  naturaler  to  me  Injun  blood." 

"If  I  ketch  ye  foolin'  round  the  cows  or  sp'ilin' 
them  the  fur '11  fly,"  growled  Raften. 

"Well,  kin  we  hook  apples  and  cherries?"  and 
Sam  added  in  explanation;  "they're  no  good  to  us 
unless  they're  hooked." 

"Take  all  the  fruit  ye  want." 

"An'   potatoes?" 

"Yes." 

"An'  aigs?" 

253 


Two  Little  Savages 

"Well,  if  ye  don't  take  more'n  ye  need." 

"An'  cakes  out  of  the  pantry?     Indians  do  that." 

"No ;  howld  on  now.  That  is  a  good  place  to  draw 
the  line.  How  are  ye  goin'  to  get  yer  stuff  down 
thayer?  It's  purty  heavy.  Ye  see  thayer  are  yer 
beds  an'  pots  an'  pans,  as  well  as  food." 

"We'll  have  to  take  a  wagon  to  the  swamp  and 
then  carry  them  on  our  backs  on  the  blazed  trail," 
said  Sam,  and  explained  "our  backs"  by  pointing 
to  Michel  and  Si  at  work  in  the  yard. 

"The  road  goes  as  far  as  the  creek,"  suggested 
Yan;  "let's  make  a  raft  there  an'  take  the  lot  in  it 
down  to  the  swimming-pond ;  that'd  be  real  Injun." 

"What '11  ye  make  the  raft  of?"  asked  Raften. 

"Cedar  rails  nailed  together,"  answered  Sam. 

"No  nails  in  mine,"  objected  Yan;  "that  isn't 
Injun." 

"An'  none  o'  my  cedar  rails  fur  that.  'Pears 
to  me  it'd  be  less  work  an'  more  Injun  to  pack  the 
stuff  on  yer  backs  an'  no  risk  o'  wettin'  the  beds." 

So  the  raft  was  given  up,  and  the  stuff  was  duly 
carted  to  the  creek's  side.  Raften  himself  went 
with  it.  He  was  a  good  deal  of  a  boy  at  heart  and 
he  was  much  in  sympathy  with  the  plan.  His 
remarks  showed  a  mixture  of  interest,  and  doubt  as 
to  the  wisdom  of  letting  himself  take  so  much  interest. 

"Hayre,  load  me  up,"  he  said,  much  to  the  sur 
prise  of  the  boys,  as  they  came  to  the  creek's  edge. 
His  broad  shoulders  carried  half  of  the  load.  The 
blazed  trail  was  only  two  hundred  yards  long,  and 

254 


Really  in  the  Woods 


in  two  trips  the  stuff  was  all  dumped  down  in  front 
of  the  teepee. 

Sam  noted  with  amusement  the  unexpected 
enthusiasm  of  his  father.  "Say,  Da,  you're  just  as 
bad  as  we  are.  I  believe  you'd  like  to  join  us." 

'Moinds  me  o'  airly  days  here,"  was  the  reply, 
with  a  wistful  note  in  his  voice.  "Many  a  night 
me  an'  Caleb  Clark  slep'  out  this  way  on  this  very 
crick  when  them  fields  was  solid  bush.  Do  ye 
know  how  to  make  a  bed?"  . 

"Don't  know  a  thing,"  and  Sam  winked  at  Yan. 
"Show  us." 

"I'll  show  ye  the  rale  thing.     Where's  the  axe?" 

"Haven't  any,"  said  Yan.  "There's  a  big  toma 
hawk  and  a  little  tomahawk." 

Raften  grinned,  took  the  big  "tomahawk"  and 
pointed  to  a  small  Balsam  Fir.  "Now  there's  a 
foine  bed-tree." 

"Why,  that's  a  fire-tree,  too,"  said  Yan,  as  with 
two  mighty  strokes  Raften"  sent  it  toppling  down, 
then  rapidly  trimmed  it  of  its  flat  green  boughs.  A 
few  more  strokes  brought  down  a  smooth  young 
Ash  and  cut  it  into  four  pieces,  two  of  them  seven  feet 
long  and  two  of  them  five  feet.  Next  he  cut  a 
White  Oak  sapling  and  made  four  sharp  pegs  each 
two  feet  long. 

"Now,  boys,  whayer  do  you  want  yer  bed?" 
then  stopping  at  a  thought  he  added,  "Maybe 
ye  didn't  want  me  to  help — want  to  do  everything 
yerselves?" 


2S5 


Two  Little  Savages 

"Ugh,  bully  good  squaw.  Keep  it  up — wagh  S" 
said  his  son  and  heir,  as  he  calmly  sat  on  a  log  and 
wore  his  most  "Injun  brave  "  expression  of  haughty 
approval. 

The  father  turned  with  an  inquiring  glance  to  Yan, 
who  replied: 

"We're  mighty  glad  of  your  help.  You  see,  we 
don't  know  how.  It  seems  to  me  that  I  read  once 
the  best  place  in  the  teepee  is  opposite  the  door 
and  a  little  to  one  side.  Let's  make  it  here."  So 
Raften  placed  the  four  logs  for  the  sides  and  ends  of 
the  bed  and  drove  in  the  ground  the  four  stakes 
to  hold  them.  Yan  brought  in  several  armfuls  of 
branches,  and  Raften  proceeded  to  lay  them  like 
shingles,  beginning  at  the  head-log  of  the  bed  and 
lapping  them  very  much.  It  took  all  the  fir  boughs, 
but  when  all  was  done  there  was  a  solid  mass  of  soft 
green  tips  a  foot  thick,  all  the  butts  being  at  the 
ground. 

"Thayer,"  said  Raften,  "that's  an  Injun  feather 
bed  an'  safe  an'  warrum.  Slapin'  on  the  ground's 
terrible  dangerous,  but  that's  all  right.  Now  make 
your  bed  on  that."  Sam  ana  Yan  did  so,  and  when 
it  was  finished  Raften  said:  "Now,  fetch  that  little 
canvas  I  told  yer  ma  to  put  in;  that's  to  fasten  to  the 
poles  for  an  inner  tent  over  the  bed." 

Yan  stood  still  and  looked  uncomfortable. 

"Say,  Da,  look  at  Yan.  He's  got  that  tired  look 
that  he  wears  when  the  rules  is  broke." 

"What's  wrong,"  asked  Raften. 

256 


Really  in  the  Woods 

"Indians  don't  have  them  that  I  ever  heard  of," 
said  Little  Beaver. 

"Yan,  did  ye  iver  hear  of  a  teepee  linin'  or  a  dew- 
cloth?" 

"Yes,"  was  the  answer,  in  surprise  at  the  unex 
pected  knowledge  of  the  farmer. 

"Do  ye  know  what  they're  like?" 

"No — at  least — no " 

"Well,  /  do;  that's  what  it's  like.  That's  some 
thing  I  do  know,  fur  I  seen  old  Caleb  use  wan." 

"Oh,  I  remember  reading  about  it  now,  and  they 
are  like  that,  and  it's  on  them  that  the  Indians  paint 
their  records.  Isn't  that  bully,"  as  he  saw  Raften 
add  two  long  inner  stakes  which  held  the  dew- 
cloth  like  a  canopy. 

"Say,  Da,  I  never  knew  you  and  Caleb  were  hunt 
ing  together.  Thought  ye  were  jest  natural  born 
enemies." 

"Humph  !"  grunted  Raften.  "We  wuz  chums  oncet. 
Never  had  no  fault  to  find  till  we  swapped  horses." 

"Sorry  you  ain't  now,  'cause  he's  sure  sharp  in  the 
woods." 

"He  shouldn't  a-tried  to  make  an  orphan  out  o' 
you." 

"Are  you  sure  he  done  it  ?" 

"If  'twasn't  him  I  dunno  who  'twas.  Yan,  fetch 
some  of  them  pine  knots  thayer." 

Yan  went  after  the  knots;  it  was  some  yards  into 
the  woods,  and  out  there  he  was  surprised  to  see  a 
tall  man  behind  a  tree.  A  second's  glance  showed 

257 


Two  Little  Savages 

it  to  be  Caleb.  The  Trapper  laid  one  finger  on  his 
lips  and  shook  his  head.  Yan  nodded  assent,  gath 
ered  the  knots,  and  went  back  to  the  camp,  where 
Sam  continued : 

"You  skinned  him  out  of  his  last  cent,  old  Boyle 
says." 

"An'  whoi  not,  when  he  throid  to  shkin  me? 
Before  that  I  was  helpin'  him,  an'  fwhat  must  he  do 
but  be  ahfter  swappin'  horses.  He  might  as  well  ast  me 
to  play  poker  and  then  squeal  when  I  scooped  the  pile. 
Naybours  is  wan  thing  an'  swappin'  horses  is  another. 
All's  fair  in  a  horse  trade,  an'  friends  didn't  orter 
swap  horses  widout  they  kin  stand  the  shkinnin'. 
That's  a  game  by  itself.  Oi  would  'a'  helped  him 
jest  the  same  aft  her  that  swap  an'  moore,  fur  he 
wuz  good  stuff,  but  he  must  nades  shoot  at  me  that 
noight  as  I  come  home  wit  the  wad,  so  av  coorse 

"I  wish  ye  had  a  Dog  now,"  said  the  farmer  in 
the  new  tone  of  a  new  subject;  "tramps  is  a  nuisance 
at  all  toimes,  an'  a  Dog  is  the  best  med'cine  for  them. 
I  don't  believe  old  Cap'd  stay  here;  but  maybe 
yer  near  enough  to  the  house  so  they  won't  bother 
ye.  An'  now  I  guess  the  Paleface  will  go  back 
to  the  settlement.  I  promised  ma  that  I'd  see 
that  yer  bed  wuz  all  right,  an'  if  ye  sleep  warrum 
an'  dry  an'  hev  plenty  to  ate  ye'll  take  no  harrum." 

So  he  turned  away,  but  as  he  was  quitting  the 
clearing  he  stopped, — the  curious  boyish  interest  was 
gone  from  his  face,  the  geniality  from  his  voice — 
then  in  his  usual  stern  tones  of  command: 


"  If  ye  kill  any  Song-birds,   I'll  use  the  rawhoide  on  ye 


Really  in  the  Woods 

"Now,  bhoys,  ye  kin  shoot  all  the  Woodchucks 
yer  a  mind  ter,  fur  they  are  a  nuisance  in  the  field. 
Yer  kin  kill  Hawks  an'  Crows  an'  Jays,  fur  they 
kill  other  birds,  an'  Rabbits  an'  Coons,  fur  they 
are  fair  game;  but  I  don't  want  to  hear  of  yer  killin' 
any  Squirrels  or  Chipmunks  or  Song-birds,  an'  if 
ye  do  I'll  stop  the  hull  thing  an'  bring  ye  back  to 
wurruk,  an'  use  the  rawhoide  on  tap  o'  that." 


261 


II 

The  First   Night   and   Morning 

IT  was  a  strange  new  feeling  that  took  possession 
of  the  boys  as  they  saw  Mr.  Raften  go,  and  when 
his  step  actually  died   away  on  the   blazed  trail 
they  felt  that  they  were  really  and  truly  alone  in  the 
woods  and  camping  out.     To  Yan  it  was  the  realiza 
tion  of  many  dreams,  and  the  weirdness  of  it  was 
helped   by   the   remembrance    of   the   tall    old   man 
he  had  seen  watching  them  from  behind  the  trees. 
He   made   an  excuse   to   wander   out   there,   but   of 
course  Caleb  was  gone. 

"Fire  up,"  Sam  presently  called  out.  Yan  was 
the  chief  expert  with  the  rubbing-sticks,  and  within 
a  minute  or  two  he  had  the  fire  going  in  the  middle 
of  the  teepee  and  Sam  set  about  preparing  the 
evening  meal.  This  was  supposed  to  be  Buffalo 
meat  and  Prairie  roots  (beef  and  potatoes).  It  was 
eaten  rather  quietly,  and  then  the  boys  sat  down 
on  the  opposite  sides  of  the  fire.  The  conversation 
dragged,  then  died  a  natural  death;  each  was  busy 
with  his  thoughts,  and  there  was,  moreover,  an  impres 
sive  and  repressive  something  or  other  all  around 
them.  Not  a  stillness,  for  there  were  many  sounds, 
but  beyond  those  a  sort  of  voiceless  background 

262 


The  First  Night  and  Morning 

that  showed  up  all  the  myriad  voices.  Some  of 
these  were  evidently  Bird,  some  Insect,  and  a  few 
were  recognized  as  Tree-frog  notes.  In  the  near 
stream  were  sounds  of  splashing  or  a  little  plunge. 

"Must  be  Mushrat,"  whispered  Sam  to  the  un 
spoken  query  of  his  friend. 

A  loud,  far  "  Oho-oho-oho "  was  familiar  to  both 
as  the  cry  of  the  Horned  Owl,  but  a  strange  long 
wail  rang  out  from  the  trees  overhead. 

"What's  that?" 

"Don't  know,"  was  all  they  whispered,  and  both 
felt  very  uncomfortable.  The  solemnity  and  mystery 
of  the  night  was  on  them  and  weighing  more  heavily 
with  the  waning  light.  The  feeling  was  oppressive. 
Neither  had  courage  enough  to  propose  going  to 
the  house  or  their  camping  would  have  ended.  Sam 
arose  and  stirred  the  fire,  looked  around  for  more 
wood,  and,  seeing  none,  he  grumbled  (to  himself)  and 
stepped  outside  in  the  darkness  to  find  some.  It 
was  not  till  long  afterward  that  he  admitted  having 
had  to  dare  himself  to  step  out  into  the  darkness. 
He  brought  in  sunie  sticks  and  fastened  the  door 
as  tigliliy  as  possible.  The  blazing  fire  in  the  teepee 
was  cheering  again.  The  boys  perhaps  did  not 
realize  that  there  was  actually  a  tinge  of  home 
sickness  in  their  mood,  yet  both  were  thinking  of 
the  comfortable  circle  at  the  house.  The  blazing 
fire  smoked  a  little,  and  Sam  said: 

"Kin  you  fix  that  to  draw?  You  know  more 
about  it  'an  me." 

263 


Two  Little  Savages 

Yan    now   forced    himself   to    step    outside.     The 
wind    was    rising    and    had    changed.     He    swt 
the  smoke  poles  till  the  vent  was  quartering  dov 
then  hoarsely  whispered,  "How's  that?" 

"That's  better,"  was   the  reply  in  a  similar  tone, 
though  there  was  no  obvious  difference  yet. 

He  went  inside  with  nervous   haste   and   fastened 
up  the  entrance. 

"Let's  make  a  good  fire  and  go  to  bed." 

So   they   turned   in    after   partly   undressing,   but 
not   to   sleep   for  hours.     Yan  in  particular  was  in 
a    state    of    nervous    excitement.     His    heart 
beaten  violently  when  he  went  out  that  time,  ; 
even  now  that   mysterious  dread  was  on  him. 
fire  was  the  one  comfortable  thing.     He  dozed 
but  started  up  several  times  at  some  slight  sot- 
Once   it   was   a  peculiar   "Tick,   tick,  scr-a-a-a-a 
lick-scra-a-a-a-a-a-pe,"    down    the    teepee    over 
head.     "A  Bear  "  was  his  first  notion,  but  on  sec 
thoughts  he  decided  it  was  only  a  leaf  sliding  d 
the    canvas.     Later   he   was   roused  by  a   "Sen 
scratch,  scratch"  .close  to  him.   'He  listened  sile 
for  some  time.     This  was  no  leaf;  it  was  an  anir, 
Yes,    surely — it    was    a    Mouse.     He    slapped 
canvas  violently  and  "hissed"  till    it  went   a\   i 
but  as  he  listened  he  heard  again  that  peculiar 
in  the  tree-tops.     It  almost  made  his    hair  sit 
He  reached  out  and  poked  the  fire  together  in 
blaze.     All  was  still  and  in  time  he  dozed  off.     ( 
more  he  was  wide  awake  in  a  flash  and  saw 
sitting  up  in  bed  listening. 

264 


The  First  Night  and  Morning 

"What  is  it,  Sam?"  he  whispered. 

"I  dunno.     Where's  the  axe?" 

"Right  here." 

"Let  me  have  it  on  my  side.  You  kin  have  the 
hatchet." 

But  they  dropped  off  at  last  and  slept  soundly 
till  the  sun  was  strong  on  the  canvas  and  filling  the 
teepee  with  a  blaze  of  transmitted  light. 

"Woodpecker!  Woodpecker!  Get  up!  Get  up! 
Hi-e-yo  !  Hi-e-yo  !  Double-u-double-o-d-bang-fizz- 
whackety  -  whack  -  y  -  r  -  chuck  -  brrrrrrrrrrrrrrr-Wood- 
pecker,"  shouted  Yan  to  his  sleepy  chum,  quoting  a 
phrase  that  Sam  when  a  child  had  been  taught  as 
the  true  spelling  of  his  nickname. 

Sam  woke  slowly,  but  knowing  perfectly  where  he 
was,  and  drawled: 

"Get  up  yourself.  You're  cook  to-day,  an'  I'll 
take  my  breakfast  in  bed.  Seems  like  my  knee  is 
broke  out  again." 

"Oh,  get  up,  and  let's  have  a  swim  before  break 
fast." 

"No,  thank  you,  I'm  too  busy  just  now;  'sides,  it's 
both  cold  and  wet  in  that  pond,  this  time  o'  day." 

The  morning  was  fresh  and  bright;  many  birds 
were  singing;  although  it  was  July,  a  Red-eyed 
Vireo  and  a  Robin  were  in  full  song ;  and  as  Yan  rose 
to  get  the  breakfast  he  wondered  why  he  had  been 
haunted  by  such  strange  feelings  the  night  before. 
It  was  incomprehensible  now.  He  wished  that 
appalling  wail  in  the  tree-tops  would  sound  again, 
so  he  might  trace  it  home. 

267 


Two  Little  Savages 

There  still  were  some  live  coals  in  the  ashes,  and 
in  a  few  minutes  he  had  a  blazing  fire,  with  the  pot 
boiling  for  coffee,  and  the  bacon  in  the  fryer  singing 
sweetest  music  for  the  hungry. 

Sam  lay  on  his  back  watching  his  companion  and 
making  critical  remarks. 

"You  may  be  an  Ai  cook — at  least,  I  hope  you 
are,  but  you  don't  know  much  about  fire-wood,"  said 
he.  "Now  look  at  that,"  as  one  huge  spark  after 
another  exploded  from  the  fire  and  dropped  on  the 
bed  and  the  teepee  cover. 

"  How  can  I  help  it?" 

"I'll  bet  Da's  best  cow  against  your  jack-knife 
you  got  some  Ellum  or  Hemlock  in  that  fire." 

"Well,  I  have,"  Yan  admitted,  with  an  air  of 
surrender. 

"My  son,"  said  the  Great  Chief  Woodpecker,  "no 
sparking  allowed  in  the  teepee.  Beech,  Maple, 
Hickory  or  Ash  never  spark.  Pine  knots  an'  roots 
don't,  but  they  make  smoke  like — like — oh — you 
know.  Hemlock,  Ellum,  Chestnut,  Spruce  and 
Cedar  is  public  sparkers,  an'  not  fit  for  dacint  teepee 
sassiety.  Big  Injun  heap  hate  noisy,  crackling  fire. 
Enemy  hear  that,  an' — an' — it  burns  his  bedclothes." 

"All  right,  Grandpa,"  and  the  cook  made  a  mental 
note,  then  added  in  tones  of  deadly  menace,  "You 
get  up  now,  do  you  understand  ! "  and  he  picked  up 
a  bucket  of  water. 

"That  might  scare  the  Great  Chief  Woodpecker  if 
the  Great  Chief  Cook  had  a  separate  bed,  but  now 

268 


The  First  Night  and  Morning 

he  smiles  kind  o'  scornful,"  was  all  the  satisfaction 
he  got.  Then  seeing  that  breakfast  really  was 
ready,  Sam  scrambled  out  a  few  minutes  later.  The 
coffee  acted  like  an  elixir — their  spirits  rose,  and 
before  the  meal  was  ended  it  would  have  been  hard 
to  find  two  more  hilarious  and  enthusiastic  campers. 
Even  the  vague  terrors  of  the  night  were  now  sources 
of  amusement. 


269 


Ill 


A  Crippled  Warrior  and  the  Mud  Albums 

SAY,  Sam;  what  about  Guy?  Do  we  want  him ?" 
"Well,  it's  just  like  this.  If  it  was  at  school 
or  any  other  place  I  wouldn't  be  bothered  with 
the  dirty  little  cuss,  but  out  in  the  woods  like  this 
one  feels  kind  o'  friendly,  an'  three's  better  than  two. 
Besides,  he  has  been  admitted  to  the  Tribe  already." 

"Yes,  that's  what  I  say.     Let's  give  him  a  yell." 

So  the  boys  uttered  a  long  yell,  produced  by  alter 
nating  the  voice  between  a  high  falsetto  and  a  natural 
tone.  This  was  the  "yell,"  and  had  never  failed 
to  call  Guy  forth  to  join  them  unless  he  had  some 
chore  on  hand  and  his  "Paw"  was  too  near  to 
prevent  his  renegading  to  the  Indians.  He  soon 
appeared  waving  a  branch,  the  established  signal 
that  he  came  as  a  friend. 

He  came  very  slowly,  however,  and  the  boys  saw 
that  he  limped  frightfully,  helping  himself  along 
with  a  stick.  He  was  barefoot,  as  usual,  but  his 
left  foot  was  swaddled  in  a  bundle  of  rags. 

"  Hello,  Sappy;  what  happened  ?  Out  to  Wounded 
Knee  River?" 

"Nope.  Struck  luck.  Paw  was  bound  I'd  ride 
the  Horse  with  the  scuffler  all  day,  but  he  gee'd  too 


270 


"  He  soon  appeared,  waving  a  branch  " 


A  Crippled  .Warrior  and  the  Mud  Albums 


short  an'  I  arranged  to  tumble  off'n  him,  an'  Paw 
scuffled  me  foot  some.  Law !  how  I  did  holler ! 
You  should  'a'  heard  me." 

"Bet  we  did,"  said  Sam.     "When  was  it?" 

"Yesterday  about  four." 

"Exactly.  We  heard  an  awful  screech  and  Yan 
says,  says  he,  'There's  the  afternoon  train  at  Kelly's 
Crossing,  but  ain't  she  late  ? ' 

"'Train!'  says  I.  'Pooh.  I'll  bet  that's  Guy 
Burns  getting  a  new  licking. ' ' 

"  Guess  I'll  well  up  now,"  said  War  Chief  Sapwood, 
so  stripped  his  foot,  revealing  a  scratch  that  would 
not  have  cost  a  thought  had  he  got  it  playing  ball. 
He  laid  the  rags  away  carefully  and  with  them 
every  trace  of  the  limp,  then  entered  heartily  into 
camp  life. 

The  vast  advantage  of  being  astir  early  now  was 
seen.  There  were  Squirrels  in  every  other  tree, 
there  were  birds  on  every  side,  and  when  they  ran 
to  the  pond  a  wild  Duck  spattered  over  the  surface 
and  whistled  out  of  sight. 

"What  you  got?"  called  Sam,  as  he  saw  Yan 
bending  eagerly  over  something  down  by  the  pond. 

Yan. did  not  answer,  and  so  Sam  went  over  and 
saw  him  studying  out  a  mark  in  the  mud.  He 
was  trying  to  draw  it  in  his  note-book. 

"What  is  it?"  repeated  Sam. 

"Don't  know.  Too  stubby  for  a  Muskrat,  too 
much  claw  for  a  Cat,  too  small  for  a  Coon,  too 
many  toes  for  a  Mink." 


273 


Two  Little  Savages 

• 

"I'll  bet  it's  a  Whangerdoodle." 

Yan  merely  chuckled  in  answer  to  this. 

"  Don't  you  laugh,"  said  the  Woodpecker,  solemnly. 
"You'd  be  more  apt  to  cry  if  you  seen  one  walk  into 
the  teepee  blowing  the  whistle  at  the  end  of  his  tail. 
Then  it'd  be,  '  Oh,  Sam,  where's  the  axe  ? ' ' 

"Tell  you  what  I  do  believe  it  is,"  said  Yan,  not 
noticing  this  terrifying  description;  "it's  a  Skunk." 

"Little  Beaver,  my  son!  I  thought  I  would  tell 
you,  then  I  sez  to  meself,  'No;  it's  better  for  him 
to  find  out  by  his  lone.  Nothing  like  a  struggle  in 
early  life  to  develop  the  stuff  in  a  man.  It  don't 
do  to  help  him  too  much,'  sez  I,  an'  so  I  didn't." 

Here  Sam  condescendingly  patted  the  Second  War 
Chief  on  the  head  and  nodded  approvingly.  Of 
course  he  did  not  know  as  much  about  the  track  as 
Yan  did,  but  he  prattled  on: 

"  Little  Beaver  !  you're  a  heap  struck  on  tracks 

Ugh — good !  You  kin  tell  by  them  everything  that 
passes  in  the  night.  Wagh  !  Bully  !  You're  likely 
to  be  the  naturalist  of  our  Tribe.  But  you  ain't 
got  gumption.  Now,  in  this  yer  hunting-ground 
of  our  Tribe  there  is  only  one  place  where  you  can 
see  a  track,  an'  that  is  that  same  mud-bank;  all  the 
rest  is  hard  or  grassy.  Now,  what  I'd  do  if  I  was 
a  Track-a-mist,  I'd  give  the  critters  lots  o'  chance 
to  leave  tracks.  I'd  fix  it  all  round  with  places  so 
nothing  could  come  or  go  'thout  givin'  us  his  impres 
sions  of  the  trip.  I'd  have  one  on  each  end  of  the 
trail  coming  in,  an'  one  on  each  side  of  the  creek 
where  it  comes  in  an'  goes  out." 

274 


A  Crippled  Warrior  and  the  Mud  Albums 

"Well,  Sam,  you  have  a  pretty  level  head.  I 
wonder  I  didn't  think  of  that  myself." 

"My  son,  the  Great  Chief  does  the  thinking.  It's 
the  rabble — that's  you  and  Sappy — that  does  the 
work." 

But  all  the  same  he  set  about  it  at  once  with 
Yan,  Sappy  following  with  a  sligJit  limp  now. 
They  removed  the  sticks  and  rubbish  for  twenty 
feet  of  the  trail  at  each  end  and  sprinkled  this  with 
three  or  four  inches  of  fine  black  loam.  They  cleared 
off  the  bank  of  the  stream  at  four  places,  one  at  each 
side  where  it  entered  the  woods,  and  one  at  each 
side  where  it  went  into  the  Burns's  Bush. 

"Now,"  said  Sam,  "there's  what  I  call  visitors' 
albums  like  the  one  that  Phil  Leary's  nine  fatties 
started  when  they  got  their  brick  house  and  their 
swelled  heads,  so  every  one  that  came  in  could  write 
their  names  an'  something  about  'this  happy,  happy, 
ne'er-to-be-forgotten  visit' — them  as  could  write. 
Reckon  that's  where  our  visitors  get  the  start,  for 
all  of  ours  kin  write  that  has  feet." 

"Wonder  why  I  didn't  think  o'  that,"  said  Yan, 
again  and  again.  "  But  there's  one  thing  you  forget," 
he  said.  "We  want  one  around  the  teepee." 

This  was  easily  made,  as  the  ground  was  smooth 
and  bare  there,  and  Sappy  forgot  his  limp  and  helped 
to  carry  ashes  and  sand  from  the  fire-hole.  Then 
planting  his  broad  feet  down  in  the  dust,  with  many 
snickers,  he  left  some  very  interesting  tracks. 

"  I  call  that  a  bare  track,"  said  Sam. 

275 


Two  Little  Savages 

"Go  ahead  and  draw  it,"  giggled  Sappy. 

"Why  not ? "  and  Yan  got  out  his  book. 

"  Bet  you  can't  make  it  life-size,"  and  Sam  glanced 
from  the  little  note-book  to  the  vast  imprint. 

After  it  was  drawn,  Sam  said,  "Guess  I'll  peel  off 
and  show  you  a  human  track."  He  soon  gave  an 
impression  of  his  foot  for  the  artist,  and  later  Yan 
added  his  own;  the  three  were  wholly  different. 

"Seems  to  me  it  would  be  about  right,  if  you  had 
the  ways  the  toes  pointed  and  the  distance  apart 
to  show  how  long  the  legs  wuz." 

Again  Sam  had  given  Yan  a  good  idea.  From 
that  time  he  noted  these  two  points  and  made  his 
records  much  better. 

"Air  you  fellers  roostin'  here  now?"  said  Sappy 
in  surprise,  as  he  noted  the  bed  as  well  as  the  pots 
and  pans. 

"Yep." 

"Well,  I  wanter,  too.  If  I  kin  git  hoi'  o'  Maw 
'thout  Paw,  it'll  be  O.  K." 

"You  let  on  we  don't  want  you  and  Paw'll  let 
you  come.  Tell  him  Ole  Man  Raften  ordered 
you  off  the  place  an'  he'll  fetch  you  here  himself." 

"I  guess  there's  room  enough  in  that  bed  fur 
three,"  remarked  the  Third  War  Chief. 

"Well,  I  guess  there  ain't,"  said  Woodpecker. 
"Not  when  the  third  one  won  first  prize  for  being 
the  dirtiest  boy  in  school.  You  can  get  stuff  an' 
make  your  own  bed,  across  there  on  the  other  side 
the  fire." 


276 


A  Crippled  Wamo*  and  the  Mud  Albums 

"Don't  know  how." 

"We'll  show  you,  only  you'll  have  to  go  home  for 
blankets  an'  grub." 

The  boys  soon  cut  a  Fir-bough  bed,  but  Guy  put 
off  going  home  for  the  blankets  as  long  as  he  could. 
He  knew  and  they  suspected  that  there  was  no 
chance  of  his  rejoining  them  again  that  day.  So 
after  sundown  he  replaced  his  foot -rags  and  limped 
down  the  trail  homeward,  saying,  "I'll  be  back  in 
a  few  minutes,"  and  the  boys  knew  perfectly  well 
that  he  would  not. 

The  evening  meal  was  over;  they  had  sat  around 
wondering  if  the  night  would  repeat  its  terrors. 
An  Owl  "Hoo-hoo-ed"  in  the  trees.  There  was  a 
pleasing  romance  in  the  sound.  The  boys  kept  up 
the  fire  till  about  ten,  then  retired,  determined  that 
they  would  not  be  scared  this  time.  They  were 
barely  off  to  sleep  when  the  most  awful  outcry  arose 
in  the  near  woods,  like  "a  Wolf  with  a  sore  throat," 
then  the  yells  of  a  human  being  in  distress.  Again 
the  boys  sat  up  in  fright.  There  was  a  scuffling 
outside — a  loud  and  terrified  "Hi — hi — hi — Sam!" 
Then  an  attack  was  made  on  the  door.  It  was  torn 
open,  and  in  tumbled  Guy.  He  was  badly  frightened ; 
but  when  the  fire  was  lighted  and  he  calmed 
down  a  little  he  confessed  that  Paw  had  sent  him 
to  bed,  but  when  all  was  still  he  had  slipped 
out  the  window,  carrying  the  bedclothes.  He  was 
nearly  back  to  the  camp  when  he  decided  to 
scare  the  boys  by  letting  off  a  few  wolfish  howls, 

277 


Two  Little  Savages 

but  he  made  himself  very  scary  by  doing  it,  and 
when  a  wild  answer  came  from  the  tree-tops — a 
hideous,  blaring  screech — he  lost  all  courage,  dropped 
the  bedding,  and  ran  toward  the  teepee  yelling 
for  help. 

The  boys  took  torches  presently  and  went  nervously 
in  search  of  the  missing  blankets.  Guy's  bed  was 
made  and  in  an  hour  they  were  once  more  asleep. 

In  the  morning  Sam  was  up  and  out  first.  From 
the  home  trail  he  suddenly  called: 

"Yan,  come  here." 

"Do  you  mean  me?"  said  Little  Beaver,  with 
haughty  dignity. 

"Yep,  Great  Chief;  git  a  move  on  you.  Hustle  out 
here.  Made  a  find.  Do  you  see  who  was  visiting 
us  last  night  while  we  slept?"  and  he  pointed  to  the 
"album"  on  the  inway.  "I  hain't  shined  them 
shoes  every  week  with  soot  off  the  bottom  of  the  pot 
without  knowin'  that  one  pair  of  'em  was  wore  by 
Ma  an'  one  of  'em  by  Da.  But  let's  see  how  far 
they  come.  Why,  I  orter  looked  round  the  teepee 
before  tramplin'  round.  They  went  back,  and 
though  the  trails  were  much  hidden  by  their  own, 
they  found  enough  around  the  doorway  to  show 
that  during  the  night,  or  more  likely  late  in  the 
evening,  the  father  and  mother  had  paid  them  a 
visit  in  secret — had  inspected  the  camp  as  they 
slept,  but  finding  no  one  stirring  and  the  boys 
breathing  the  deep  breath  of  healthy  sleep,  they 
had  left  them  undisturbed. 


A  Crippled  Warrior  and  the  Mud  Albums 

"Say,  boys — I  mean  Great  Chiefs — what  we  want 
in  camp  is  a  Dog,  or  one  of  these  nights  some  one 
will  steal  our  teeth  out  o'  our  heads  an'  we  won't 
know  a  thing  till  they  come  back  for  the  gums. 
All  Injun  camps  have  Dogs,  anyway." 

The  next  morning  the  Third  War  Chief  was  ordered 
out  by  the  Council,  first  to  wash  himself  clean,  then 
to  act  as  cook  for  the  day.  He  grumbled  as  he 
washed,  that  " 'Twan't  no  good — he'd  be  all  dirty 
again  in  two  minutes,"  which  was  not  far  from  the 
truth.  But  he  went  at  the  cooking  with  enthusiasm, 
which  lasted  nearly  an  hour.  After  this  he  did  not 
see  any  fun  in  it,  and  for  once  he,  as  well  as  the 
others,  began  to  realize  how  much  was  done  for 
them  at  home.  At  noon  Sappy  set  out  nothing  but 
dirty  dishes,  and  explained  that  so  long  as  each  got 
his  own  it  was  all  right.  His  foot  was  very  trouble 
some  at  meal  time  also.  He  said  it  was  the  moving 
round  when  he  was  hurrying  that  made  it  so  hard 
to  bear,  but  in  their  expedition  with  bows  and 
arrows  later  on  he  found  complete  relief. 

"Say,  look  at  the  Red-bird,"  he  shouted,  as  a 
Tanager  flitted  onto  a  low  branch  and  blazed  in  the 
sun.  "Bet  I  hit  him  first  shot!"  and  he  drew  an 
arrow. 

"  Here  you,  Saphead,"  said  Sam,  "  quit  that  shooting 
at  little  birds.  It's  bad  medicine.  It's  against  the 
rules;  it  brings  bad  luck — it  brings  awful  bad  luck. 
I  tell  you  there  ain't  no  worse  luck  than  Da's  raw 
hide — that  I  know." 


Two  Little  Savages 

"Why,  what's  the  good  o'  playin'  Injun  if  we 
can't  shoot  a  blame  thing?"  protested  Sappy. 

"You  kin  shoot  Crows  an'  Jays  if  you  like,  an' 
Woodchucks,  tod." 

"I  know  where  there's  a  Woodchuck  as  big  as  a 
Bear." 

"Ah!     What  size  Bear?" 

"Well,  it  is.  You  kin  laugh  all  you  want  to. 
He  has  a  den  in  our  clover  field,  an'  he  made  it  so 
big  that  the  mower  dropped  in  an'  thro  wed  Paw  as 
far  as  from  here  to  the  crick." 

"An'  the  horses,  how  did  they  get  out?" 

"Well!  It  broke  the  machine,  an'  you  should 
have  heard  Paw  swear.  My  !  but  he  was  a  socker. 
Paw  offered  me  a  quarter  if  I'd  kill  the  old  whaler. 
I  borrowed  a  steel  trap  an'  set  it  in  the  hole,  but 
he'd  dig  out  under  it  an'  round  it  every  time.  I'll 
bet  there  ain't  anything  smarter 'n  an  old  Wood- 
chuck." 

"Is  he  there  yet  ? "  asked  War  Chief  No.  2. 

"You  just  bet  he  is.  Why,  he  has  half  an  acre 
of  clover  all  eat  up." 

"Let's  try  to  get  him,"  said  Yan.  "Can  we 
find  him?" 

"Well,  I  should  say  so.  I  never  come  by  but  I 
see  the  old  feller.  He's  so  big  he  looks  like  a  calf, 
an'  so  old  an'  wicked  he's  gray-headed." 

"Let's  have  a  shot  at  him,"  suggested  the  Wood 
pecker.  "He's  fair  game.  Maybe  your  Paw'll 
give  us  a  quarter  each  if  we  kill  him." 

280 


A  Crippled  Warrior  and  the  Mud  Albums 

Guy  snickered.  "Guess  you  don't  know  my 
Paw,"  then  he  giggled  bubblously  through  his  nose 
again. 

Arrived  at  the  edge  of  the  clover,  Sam  asked, 
"Where's  your  Woodchuck?" 

"Right  in  there." 

"I  don't  see  him." 

"Well,  he's  always  here." 

"Not  now,  you  bet." 

"Well,  this  is  the  very  first  time  I  ever  came  here 
and  didn't  see  him.  Oh,  I  tell  you,  he's  a  fright. 
I'll  bet  he's  a  blame  sight  bigger 'n  that  stump." 

"Well,  here's  his  track,  anyway,"  said  Wood 
pecker,  pointing  to  some  tracks  he  had  just  made 
unseen  with  his  own  broad  palm. 

"Now,"  said  Sappy,  in  triumph.  "Ain't  he  an 
old  socker?" 

"Sure  enough.  You  ain't  missed  any  cows 
lately,  have  you?  Wonder  you  ain't  scared  to  live 
anyways  near !" 


281 


IV 
A   "Massacree"  of  Palefaces 

SAY,  fellers,  I  know  where  there's  a  stavin'  Birch 
tree — do  you  want  any  bark?" 
"Yes,  I  want  some,"  said  Little  Beaver. 

"But  hold  on;  I  guess  we  better  not,  coz  it's  right 
on  the  edge  o'  our  bush,  an'  Paw's  still  at  the  turnips." 

"Now  if  you  want  a  real  war  party,"  said  the  Head 
Chief,  "let's  massacree  the  Paleface  settlement  up 
the  crick  and  get  some  milk.  We're  just  out,  and  I'd 
like  to  see  if  the  place  has  changed  any." 

So  the  boys  hid  their  bows  and  arrows  and  head 
dresses,  and,  forgetting  to  take  a  pail,  they  followed 
in  Indian  file  the  blazed  trail,  carefully  turning  in 
their  toes  as  they  went  and  pointing  silently  to  the 
track,  making  signs  of  great  danger.  First  they 
crawled  up,  under  cover  of  one  of  the  fences,  to 
the  barn.  The  doors  were  open  and  men  working 
at  something.  A  pig  wandered  in  from  the  barn 
yard.  Then  the  boys  heard  a  sudden  scuffle,  and  a 
squeal  from  the  pig  as  it  scrambled  out  again,  and 
Raften's  voice:  "Consarn  them  pigs!  Them  boys 
ought  to  be  here  to  herd  them."  This  was  suffi 
ciently  alarming  to  scare  the  Warriors  off  in  great 

282 


A  "Massacree"  of  Palefaces 

haste.  They  hid  in  the  huge  root-cellar  and  there 
held  a  council  of  war. 

"Here,  Great  Chiefs  of  Sanger,"  said  Yan,  "behold 
I  take  three  straws.  That  long  one  is  for  the  Great 
Woodpecker,  the  middle  size  is  for  Little  Beaver, 
and  the  short  thick  one  with  the  bump  on  the  end 
and  a  crack  on  top  is  Sappy.  Now  I  will  stack 
them  up  in  a  bunch  and  let  them  fall,  then  which 
ever  way  they  point  we  must  go,  for  this  is  Big 
Medicine. " 

So  the  straws  fell.  Sam's  straw  pointed  nearly 
to  the  house,  Yan's  a  little  to  the  south  of  the 
house,  and  Guy's  right  back  home. 

"Aha,  Sappy,  you  got  to  go  home;  the  straw  says 
so." 

"I  ain't  goin'  to  believe  no  such  foolishness." 

"It's  awful  unlucky  to  go  against  it." 

"I  don't  care,  I  ain't  goin'  back,"  said  Guy  dog 
gedly. 

"Well,  my  straw  says  go  to  the  house;  that  means 
go  scouting  for  milk,  I  reckon." 

Yan's  straw  pointed  toward  the  garden,  and 
Guy's  to  the  residence  and  grounds  of  "J. 
G.  Burns,  Esq." 

"I  don't  care,"  said  Sappy,  "I  ain't  goin'.  I  am 
goin'  after  some  of  them  cherries  in  your  orchard, 
an'  'twon't  be  the  first  time,  neither." 

"We  kin  meet  by  the  Basswood  at  the  foot  of  the 
lane  with  whatever  we  get,"  said  the  First  War  Chief, 
as  he  sneaked  into  the  bushes  and  crawled  through 

283 


Two  Little  Savages 

the  snake  fence  and  among  the  nettles  and  manure 
heaps  on  the  north  side  of  the  barnyard  till  he  reached 
the  woodshed  adjoining  the  house.  He  knew  where 
the  men  were,  and  "he  could  guess  where  his  mother 
was,  but  he  was  worried  about  the  Dog.  Old  Cap 
might  be  on  the  front  doorstep,  or  he  might  be 
prowling  at  just  the  wrong  place  for  the  Injun  plan. 
The  woodshed  butted  on  the  end  of  the  kitchen. 
The  milk  was  kept  in  the  cellar,  and  one  window  of 
the  cellar  opened  into  a  dark  corner  of  the  woodshed. 
This  was  easily  raised,  and  Sam  scrambled  down 
into  the  cool  damp  cellar.  Long  rows  of  milk  pans 
were  in  sight  on  the  shelves.  He  lifted  the  cover  of 
the  one  he  knew  to  be  the  last  put  there  and  drank 
a  deep,  long  draught  with  his  mouth  down  to  it,  then 
licked  the  cream  from  his  lips  and  remembered 
that  he  had  come  without  a  pail.  But  he  knew 
where  to  get  one.  He  went  gently  up  the  stairs, 
avoiding  steps  Nos.  i  and  7  because  they  were 
"creakers,"  as  he  found  out  long  ago,  when  he  used 
to  "hook"  maple  sugar  from  the  other  side  of  the 
house.  The  door  at  the  top  was  closed  and  buttoned, 
but  he  put  his  jack-knife  blade  through  the  crack 
and  turned  the  button.  After  listening  awhile  and 
hearing  no  sound  in  the  kitchen,  he  gently  opened 
the  squeaky  old  door.  There  was  no  one  to  be  seen 
but  the  baby,  sound  asleep  in  her  cradle.  The  outer 
door  was  open,  but  no  Dog  lying  on  the  step  as 
usual.  Over  the  kitchen  was  a  garret  entered  by  a 
trap-door  and  a  ladder.  The  ladder  was  up  and  the 

284 


A  "Massacree"  of  Palefaces 

trap -door  open,  but  all  was  still.  Sam  stood  over 
the  baby,  grunted,  "Ugh,  Paleface  papoose,"  raised 
his  hand  as  if  wielding  a  war  club,  aimed  a  deadly 
blow  at  the  sleeping  cherub,  then  stooped  and 
kissed  her  rosy  mouth  so  lightly  that  her  pink  fists 
went  up  to  rub  it  at  once.  He  now  went  to  the  pantry, 
took  a  large  pie  and  a  tin  pail,  then  down  into 
the  cellar  again.  He,  at  first,  merely  closed  the  doo? 
behind  him  and  was  leaving  it  so,  but  remembered 
that  Minnie  might  awaken  and  toddle  around  till 
she  might  toddle  into  the  cellar;  therefore  he  turned 
the  button  so  that  just  a  corner  showed  over  the 
crack,  closed  the  door  and  worked  with  his  knife  blade 
on  .that  corner  till  the  cellar  was  made  as  safe  as 
before.  He  now  escaped  with  his  pie  and  pail. 

Meanwhile  his  mother's  smiling  face  beamed  out  of 
the  dark  loft.  Then  she  came  down  the  ladder. 
She  had  seen  him  come  and  enter  the  cellar;  by 
chance  she  was  in  the  loft  when  he  reached  the 
kitchen,  but  she  had  kept  quiet  to  enjoy  the  joke. 

Next  time  the  Woodpecker  went  to  the  cellar  he 
found  a  paper  with  this  on  it:  "Notice  to  hostile 
Injuns — Next  time  you  massacree  this  settlement, 
bring  back  the  pail,  and  don't  leave  the  covers  off 
the  milk  pans." 

Yan  had  followed  the  fence  that  ran  south  of  the 
nouse.  There  was  plenty  of  cover,  but  he  crawled 
on  hands  and  knees,  going  right  down  on  his  breast 
when  he  came  to  places  more  open  than  the  rest. 
In  this  way  he  had  nearly  reached  the  garden  when 

'8s 


Two  Little  Savages 

he    heard    a    noise    behind    and,    turning,    he    saw 
Sappy. 

"Here,  what  are  you  following  me  for?  Your 
straw  pointed  the  other  way.  You  ain't  playing 
fair." 

"Well,  I  don't  care,  I  ain't  going  home.  You 
fixed  it  up  so  my  straw  would  point  that  way.  It 
ain't  fair,  an'  I  won't  do  it." 

"You  got  no  right  following  me." 

"I  ain't  following  you,  but  you  keep  going  just 
the  place  I  want  to  go.  It's  you  following  me,  on'y 
keepin'  ahead.  I  told  you  I  was  after  cherries." 

"Well,  the  cherries  are  that  way  and  I'm  going 
this  way,  and  I  don't  want  you  along." 

"You  couldn't  get  me  if  you  wanted  me." 

"Erh " 

"Erh " 

So  Sappy  went  cherryward  and  Yan  waited 
awhile,  then  crawled  toward  the  fruit  garden.  After 
twenty  or  thirty  yards  more,  he  saw  a  gleam  of  red, 
then  under  it  a  bright  yellow  eye  glaring  at  him.  He 
had  chanced  on  a  hen  sitting  on  her  nest.  He  came 
nearer,  she  took  alarm  and  ran  away,  not  clucking, 
but  cackling  loudly.  There  were  a  dozen  eggs  of 
two  different  styles,  all  bright  and  clean,  and  the 
hen's  comb  was  bright  red.  Yan  knew  hens.  This 
was  easy  to  read:  Two  stray  hens  laying  in  one  nest, 
and  neither  of  them  sitting  yet. 

"So  ho!     Straws  show  which  way  the  hens  go." 

He  gathered  up  the  eggs  into  his  hat  and 
crawled  back  toward  the  tree  where  all  had  to  meet. 

286 


A  "Massacree"  of  Palefaces 


But  before  he  had  gone  far  he  heard  a  loud  barking, 
then  yells  for  help,  and  turned  in  time  to  see  Guy 
scramble  up  a  tree  while  Cap,  the  old  Collie,  barked 
savagely  at  him  from  below.  Now  that  he  was  in 
no  danger  Sappy  had  the  sense  to  keep  quiet.  Yan 
came  back  as  quickly  as  possible.  The  Dog  at  once 
recognized  and  obeyed  him,  but  doubtless  was  much 
puzzled  to  make  out  why  he  should  be  pelted  back 
to  the  house  when  he  had  so  nobly  done  his  duty 
by  the  orchard. 

"Now,  you  see,  maybe  next  time  you'll  do  what 
the  medicine  straw  tells  you.  Only  ^  for  me  you'd 
been  caught  and  fed  to  the  pigs,  sure." 

"Only  for  you  I  wouldn't  have  come.  I  wasn't 
scared  of  your  old  Dog,  anyway.  Just  in  about 
two  minutes  more  I  was  comin'  down  to  kick  the 
stuffin'  out  o'  him  myself." 

"Perhaps  you'd  like  to  go  back  and  do  it  now. 
I'll  soon  call  him." 

"Oh,  I  hain't  got  time  now,  but  some  other 
time — —  Let's  find  Sam." 

So  they  foregathered  at  the  tree,  and  laden  with 
their  spoils,  they  returned  gloriously  to  camp. 


287 


s. 


The  Deer  Hunt 


THAT  evening  they  had  a  feast  and  turned  in 
to  sleep  at  the  usual  hour.  The  night  passed 
without  special  alarm.  Once  about  daylight 
Sappy  called  them,  saying  he  believed  there  was  a 
Bear  outside,  but  he  had  a  trick  of  grinding  his  teeth 
in  his  sleep,  and  the  other  boys  told  him  that  was 
the  Bear  he  heard. 

Yan  went  around  to  the  mud  albums  and  got 
some  things  he  could  not  make  out  and  a  new  mark 
that  gave  him  a  sensation.  He  drew  it  carefully. 
It  was  evidently  the  print  of  a  small  sharp  hoof. 
This  was  what  he  had  hungered  for  so  long.  He 
shouted,  "Sam — Sam — Sapwood,  come  here;  here's 
a  Deer  track." 

The  boys  shouted  back,  "Ah,  what  you  givin'  us 
now  !  "  "Call  off  your  Dog  !  "  and  so  forth. 

But  Yan  persisted.  The  boys  were  so  sure  it  wa? 
a  trick  that  they  would  not  go  for  some  time,  then 
the  sun  had  risen  high,  shining  straight  down  on 
the  track  instead  of  across,  so  it  became  very  dim. 
Soon  the  winds,  the  birds  and  the  boys  themselves 
helped  to  wipe  it  out.  But  Yan  had  his  drawing, 
and  persisted  in  spite  of  the  teasing  that  it  was  true. 

288 


The  Deer  Hunt 


At  length  Guy  said  aside  to  Sam:  "Seems  to  me  a 
feller  that  hunts  tracks  so  terrible  serious  ought 
to  see  the  critter  some  time.  'Tain't  right  to  let  him 
go  on  sufferin'.  7  think  he  ought  to  see  that  Deer. 
We  ought  to  help  him."  Here  he  winked  a  volley 
or  two  and  made  signs  for  Sam  to  take  Yan  away. 

This  was  easily  done. 

"Let's  see  if  your  Deer  went  out  by  the  lower  mud 
album."  So  they  walked  down  that  way,  while 
Guy  got  an  old  piece  of  sacking,  stuffed  it  with  grass, 
and,  hastily  tying  it  in  the  form  of  a  Deer's  head,  stuck 
it  on  a  stick.  He  put  in  two  flat  pieces  of  wood  for 
ears,  took  charcoal  and  made  two  black  spots  for 
eyes  and  one  for  a  nose,  then  around  each  he  drew  a 
ring  of  blue  clay  from  the  bed  of  the  brook.  This 
soon  dried  and  became  white.  Guy  now  set  up  this 
head  in  the  bushes,  and  when  all  was  ready  he  ran 
swiftly  and  silently  through  the  wood  to  find  Sam 
and  Yan.  He  beckoned  vigorously  and  called 
under  his  voice :  "Sam — Yan — a  Deer!  Here's  that 
there  Deer  that  made  them  tracks,  I  believe." 

Guy  would  have  failed  to  convince  Yan  if  Sam 
had  not  looked  so  much  interested.  They  ran  back 
to  the  teepee,  got  their  bows  and  arrows,  then,  guided 
by  Guy,  who,  however,  kept  back,  they  crawled 
to  where  he  had  seen  the  Deer. 

"There — there,  now,  ain't  he  a  Deer?  There — 
see  him  move  !" 

Yan's  first  feeling  was  a  most  exquisite  thrill  of 
pleasure.  It  was  like  the  uplift  of  joy  he  had  had 


289 


Two  Little  Savages 

the  time  he  got  his  book,  but  was  stronger.  The 
savage  impulse  to  kill  came  quickly,  and  his  bow 
was  in  his  hand,  but  he  hesitated. 

"Shoot !     Shoot ! ."  said  Sam  and  Guy. 

Yan  wondered  why  they  did  not  shoot.  He  turned, 
and  in  spite  of  his  agitation  he  saw  that  they  were 
making  fun  of  him.  He  glanced  at  the  Deer  again, 
moved  up  a  little  closer  and  saw  the  trick. 

Then  they  hooted  aloud.  Yan  was  a  little  crest 
fallen.  Oh,  it  had  been  such  an  exquisite  feeling ! 
The  drop  was  long  and  hard,  but  he  rallied  quickly. 

"I'll  shoot  your  Deer  for  you,"  he  said,  and  sent 
an  arrow  close  under  it. 

"Well,  I  kin  beat  that,"  and  Sam  and  Guy  both 
fired.  Sam's  arrow  stuck  in  the  Deer's  nose.  At 
that  he  gave  a  yell;  then  all  shot  till  the  head 
was  stuck  full  of  arrows,  and  they  returned  to  the 
teepee  to  get  dinner.  They  were  still  chaffing  Yan 
about  the  Deer  when  he  said  slowly  to  Guy : 

"Generally  you  are  not  so  smart  as  you  think  you 
are,  but  this  time  you're  smarter.  You've  given 
me  a  notion." 

So  after  dinner  he  got  a  sack  about  three  feet  long 
and  stuffed  it  full  of  dry  grass ;  then  he  made  a  small 
sack  about  two  and  a  half  feet  long  and  six  inches 
thick,  but  with  an  elbow  in  it  and  pointed  at  one 
end.  This  he  also  stuffed  with  hay  and  sewed  with 
a  bone  needle  to  the  big  sack.  Next  he  cut  four 
sticks  of  soft  pine  for  legs  and  put  them  into  the 
four  corners  of  the  big  sack,  wrapping  them  with 

290 


The  Deer  Hunt 

bits  of  sacking  to  be  like  the  rest.  Then  he  cut 
two  ears  out  of  flat  sticks;  painted  black  eyes  and 
nose  with  a  ring  of  white  around  each,  just  as  Sappy 
had  done,  but  finally  added  a  black  spot  on  each 
side  of  the  body,  and  around  that  a  broad  gray 
hand.  Now  he  had  completed  what  every  one  could 
see  was  meant  for  a  Deer. 

The  other  boys  helped  a  little,  but  not  did  cease 
to  chaff  him. 

"Who's  to  be  fooled  this  time?"  asked  Guy. 

"You,"  was  the  answer. 

"I'll  bet  you'll  get  buck  fever  the  first  time  you 
come  across  it,"  chuckled  the  Head  Chief. 

"Maybe  I  will,  but  you'll  all  have  a  chance. 
Now  you  fellers  stay  here  and  I'll  hide  the  Deer. 
Wait  till  I  come  back." 

So  Yan  ran  off  northward  with  the  dummy,  then 
swung  around  to  the  east  and  hid  it  at  a  place 
quite  out  of  the  line  that  he  first  took.  He  re 
turned  nearly  to  where  he  came  out,  shouting 
"Ready!" 

Then  the  hunters  sallied  forth  fully  armed,  and 
Yan  explained:  "First  to  find  it  counts  ten  and  has 
first  shot.  If  he  misses,  next  one  can  walk  up  five 
steps  and  shoot;  if  he  misses,  next  walks  five  steps 
more,  and  so  on  until  the  Deer  is  hit.  Then  all  the 
shooting  must  be  done  from  the  place  where  that 
arrow  was  fired.  A  shot  in  the  heart  counts  ten;  in 
the  gray  counts  five;  that's  a  body  wound — and  a  hit 
outside  of  that  counts  one — that's  a  scratch.  If  the 


291 


Two  Little  Savages 

Deer  gets  away  without  a  shot  in  the  heart,  :hen 
I  count  twenty-five,  and  the  first  one  to  find  it  is 
Deer  for  next  hunt— twelve  shots  each  is  the  limit." 

The  two  hunters  searched  about  for  a  long  time. 
Sam  made  disparaging  remarks  about  the  trail  this 
Deer  did  not  leave,  and  Guy  sneaked  and  peaked  in 
every  thicket. 

Sappy  was  not  an  athlete  nor  an  intellectual  giant, 
but  his  little  piggy  eyes  were  wonderfully  sharp 
and  clear. 

"I  see  him,"  he  yelled  presently,  and  pointed  out 
the  place  seventy-five  yards  away  where  he  saw  one 
ear  and  part  of  the  head. 

"Tally  ten  for  Sappy,"  and  Yan  marked  it  down. 

Guy  was  filled  with  pride  at  his  success.  He 
made  elaborate  preparation  to  shoot,  remarking,  "I 
could  'a'  seen  it  twicet  as  far — if — if — if — it  was — 
if  I  had  a  fair  chance." 

He  drew  his  bow  and  left  fly.  The  arrow  went 
little  more  than  half  way.  So  Sam  remarked,  "Five 
steps  up  I  kin  go.  It  don't  say  nothing  about  how 
long  the  steps?" 

"No." 

"Well,  here  goes,"  and  he  began  the  most  wonderful 
Kangaroo  hops  that  he  could  do.  He  covered  about 
thirty  feet  in  those  five  steps,  and  by  swerving  a 
little  aside  he  got  a  good  view  of  the  Deer.  He  was 
now  less  than  sixty-five  yards  away.  He  fired  and 
missed.  Now  Guy  had  the  right  to  walk  up  five  steps. 
He  also  missed.  Finally  at  thirty  yards  Sam  sent 

292 


The  Deer  Hunt 

an  arrow  close  past  a  tree,  deep  in  the  Deer's  gray 
flank. 

"Bully  shot !  Body  wound  !  Count  five  for  the 
Great  War  Chief.  All  shooting  from  this  spot 
now,"  said  Yan,  "and  I  don't  know  why  I  shouldn't 
shoot  as  well  as  the  others." 

"Coz  you're  the  Deer  and  that'd  be  suicide,"  was 
Sam's  objection.  "But  it's  all  right.  You  won't 
hit." 

The  objection  was  not  sustained,  and  Yan  tried 
his  luck  also.  Two  or  three  shots  in  the  brown  of  the 
Deer's  haunch,  three  or  four  into  the  tree  that  stood 
half  way  between,  but  nearly  in  line,  a  shot  or  two 
into  the  nose,  then  "Hooray  !"  a  shot  from  Guy  right 
into  the  Deer's  heart  put  an  end  to  the  chase.  Now 
they  went  up  to  draw  and  count  the  arrows. 

Guy  was  ahead  with  a  heart  shot,  ten,  a  body 
wound,  five,  and  a  scratch,  one,  that's  sixteen,  with 
ten  more  for  finding  it — twenty-six  points.  Sam 
followed  with  two  body  wounds  and  two  scratches — 
twelve  points,  and  Yan  one  body  wound  and  five 
scratches — ten  points.  The  Deer  looked  like  an 
old  Porcupine  when  they  came  up  to  it,  and  Guy, 
bursting  with  triumph,  looked  like  a  young  Emperor. 

"I  tell  you  it  takes  me  to  larn  you  fellers  to  Deer 
hunt.  I'll  bet  I'll  hit  him  in  the  heart  first  thing 
next  time." 

"I'll  bet  you  won't,  coz  you'll  be  Deer  and  can't 
shoot  till  we  both  have." 

Guy  thought   this   the   finest   game   he   had   ever 

293 


Two  Little  Savages 


played.  He  pranced  away  with  the  dummy  on  his 
back,  scheming  as  he  went  to  make  a  puzzle  for  the 
others.  He  hid  the  Deer  in  a  dense  thicket  east  of 
the  camp,  then  Sneaked  around  to  the  west  of  the 
camp  and  yelled  "Ready  !"  They  had  a  long,  tedious 
search  and  had  to  give  it  up. 

"Now  what  to  do  ?  Who  counts  ?"  asked  the  Wood 
pecker. 

"When  Deer  escapes  it  counts  twenty-five,"  replied 
the  inventer  of  the  game;  and  again  Guy  was  ahead. 

"This  is  the  bulliest  game  I  ever  seen,"  was  his 
ecstatic  remark. 

"Seems  to  me  there's  something  wrong;  that  Deer 
ought  to  have  a  trail." 

"That's  so,"  assented  Yan.  "Wonder  if  he  couldn't 
drag  an  old  root !" 

"If  there  was  snow  it'd  be  easy." 

"I'll  tell  you,  Sam;  we'll  tear  up  paper  and  leave  a 
paper  trail." 

"Now  you're  talking."  So  all  ran  to  camp. 
Every  available  scrap  of  wrapping  paper  was  torn 
up  small  and  put  in  a  "scent  bag." 

Since  no  one  found  the  Deer  last  time,  Guy  had 
the  right  to  hide  it  again. 

He  made  a  very  crooked  trail  and  a  very  careful 
hide,  so  that  the  boys  nearly  walked  onto  the  Deer 
before  they  saw  it  about  fifteen  yards  away.  Sam 
scored  ten  for  the  find.  He  fired  and  missed.  Yan 
now  stepped  up  his  five  paces  and  fired  so  hastily 
that  he  also  missed.  Guy  now  had  a  shot  at  it  at 


294 


The  Deer  Hunt 


five  yards,  and,  of  course,  hit  the  Deer  in  the  heart. 
This  succession  of  triumphs  swelled  his  head  nearly 
to  the  bursting  point,  and  his  boasting  passed 
all  bounds.  But  it  now  became  clear  that  there 
must  be  a  limit  to  the  stepping  up.  So  the  new 
rule  was  made,  "No  stepping  up  nearer  than 
fifteen  paces." 

The  game  grew  as  they  followed  it .  Its  resemblance 
to  real  hunting  was  very  marked.  The  boys  found 
that  they  could  follow  the  trail,  or  sweep  the  woods 
with  their  eyes  as  they  pleased,  and  find  the  game,  but 
the  wisest  way  was  a  combination.  Yan  was  too 
much  for  the  trail,  Sam  too  much  for  the  general 
lookout,  but  Guy  seemed  always  in  luck.  His 
little  piglike  eyes  took  in  everything,  and  here  at 
length  he  found  a  department  in  which  he  could 
lead.  It  looked  as  though  the  "dirty  little  cuss  was 
really  cut  out  for  a  hunter."  He  made  a  number 
of  very  clever  hidings  of  the  Deer.  Once  he  led  the 
trail  to  the  pond,  then  across,  and  right  opposite  he 
put  the  Deer  in  full  view,  so  that  they  saw  it  at  once 
in  the  open ;  they  were  obliged  either  to  shoot  across 
the  pond,  or  step  farther  away  round  the  edge,  or  step 
into  the  deep  water,  and  again  Guy  scored.  It  was 
found  necessary  to  bar  hiding  the  Deer  on  a  ridge 
and  among  stones,  because  in  one  case  arrows  which 
missed  were  lost  in  the  bushes  and  in  the  other  they 
were  broken. 

They  played  this  game  so  much  that  they  soon 
found  a  new  difficulty.  The  woods  were  full  of  paper 

295 


Two  Little  Savages 

trails,  and  there  was  no  means  of  deciding  which  was 
the  old  and  which  the  new.  This  threatened  to 
end  the  fun  altogether.  But  Yan  hit  on  the  device 
of  a  different  colour  of  paper.  This  gave  them  a 
fresh  start,  but  their  supply  was  limited.  There 
was  paper  everywhere  in  the  woods  now,  and  it 
looked  as  though  the  game  was  going  to  kill  itself, 
when  old  Caleb  came  to  pay  them  a  visit.  He 
always  happened  round  as  though  it  was  an  accident, 
but  the  boys  were  glad  to  see  him,  as  he  usually  gave 
some  help. 

"Ye  got  some  game,  I  see,"  and  the  old  man's 
eye  twinkled  as  he  noted  the  dummy,  now  doing 
target  duty  on  the  forty-yard  range.  "Looks  like 
the  real  thing.  Purty  good — purty  good."  He 
chuckled  as  he  learned  about  the  Deer  hunt,  and  a 
sharp  observer  might  have  discerned  a  slight  increase 
of  interest  when  he  found  that  it  was  not  Sam  Raften 
that  was  the  "crack"  hunter. 

"Good  fur  you,  Guy  Burns.  Me  an'  your  Paw 
hev  hunted  Deer  together  on  this  very  crik  many 
a  time." 

When  he  learned  the  difficulty  about  the  scent, 
he  said  "Hm,"  and  puffed  at  his  pipe  for  awhile 
in  silence.  Then  at  length: 

"Say,  Yan,  why  don't  you  and  Guy  get  a  bag  o' 
wheat  or  Injun  corn  for  scent;  that's  better  than 
paper,  an'  what  ye  lay  to-day  is  all  clared  up  by 
the  birds  and  Squirrels  by  to-morrow." 

"  Bully  !  "  shouted  Sam.   (He  had  not  been  addressed 

296 


The  Deer  Hunt 

at  all,  but  he  was  not  thin-skinned.)  Within  ten 
minutes  he  had  organized  another  "White  massacree  " 
— that  is,  a  raid  on  the  home  barn,  and  in  half  an 
hour  he  returned  with  a  peck  of  corn. 

"Now,  lemme  be  Deer,"  said  Caleb.  "Give  me 
five  minutes'  start,  then  follow  as  fast  as  ye  like. 
I'll  show  ye  what  a  real  Deer  does." 

He  strode  away  bearing  the  dummy,  and  in  five 
minutes  as  they  set  out  on  the  trail  he  came  striding 
back  again.  Oh,  but  that  seemed  a  long  run.  The 
boys  followed  the  golden  corn  trail — a  grain  every 
ten  feet  was  about  all  they  needed  now,  they  were 
so  expert.  It  was  a  straight  run  for  a  time,  then  it 
circled  back  till  it  nearly  cut  itself  again  (at  X,  page 
298).  The  boys  thought  it  did  so,  and  claimed  the 
right  to  know,  as  on  a  real  Deer  trail  you  could  tell. 
So  Caleb  said,  "  No,  it  don't  cut  the  old  trail."  Where, 
then,  did  it  go?  After  beating  about,  Sam  said  that 
the  trail  looked  powerful  heavy,  like  it  might  be 
double. 

"Bet  I  know,"  said  Guy.  "He's  doubled  back," 
which  was  exactly  what  he  did  do,  though  Caleb 
gave  no  sign.  Yan  looked  back  on  the  trail  and 
found  where  the  new  one  had  forked.  Guy  gave 
no  heed  to  the  ground  once  he  knew  the  general 
directions.  He  ran  ahead  (toward  Y),  so  did  Sam, 
but  Guy  glanced  back  to  Yan  on  the  trail  to  make 
sure  of  the  line. 

They  had  not  gone  far  beyond  the  nearest  bushes 
before  Yan  found  another  quirk  in  the  trail.  It 

297 


Two  Little  Savages 

doubled  back  at  Z.  He  unravelled  the  double, 
glanced  around,  and  at  O  he  plainly  saw  the  Deer 
lying  on  its  side  in  the  grass.  He  let  off  a  triumphant 
yell,  "Yi,  yi,  yi,  Deer!  "  and  the  others  came 
running  back  just  in  time  to  see  Yan  send  an  arrow 
straight  into  its  heart. 


<:-?& 


I?/' 


>~0 


x»  fL         ''  1 


298 


VI 
War  Bonnet,  Teepee  and  Coups 

FORTY  yards  and  first  shot.  Well,  that's  what 
the  Injuns  would  call  a  'grand  coup,'"  and 
Caleb's  face  wore  the  same  pleasant  look  as 
when  he  made  the  fire  with  rubbing-sticks. 

"What's  a  grand  coup?"  asked  Little  Beaver. 

"Oh,  I  suppose  it's  a  big  deed.  The  Injuns  call 
a  great  feat  a  'coup,'  an'  an  extra  big  one  a  'grand 
coup.'  Sounds  like  French,  an'  maybe  'tis,  but  the 
Injuns  says  it.  They  had  a  regular  way  of  counting 
their  coup,  and  for  each  they  had  the  right  to  an 
Eagle  feather  in  their  bonnet,  with  a  red  tuft  of 
hair  on  the  end  for  the  extra  good  ones.  At  least, 
they  used  to.  I  reckon  now  they're  forgetting  it 
all,  and  any  buck  Injun  wears  just  any  feather 
he  can  steal  and  stick  in  his  head." 

"What  do  you  think  of  our  head-dresses ?"  Yan 
ventured. 

"Hm!  You  ain't  never  seen  a  real  one  or  you 
wouldn't  go  at  them  that  way  at  all.  First  place, 
the  feathers  should  all  be  white  with  black  tips, 
an'  fastened  not  solid  like  that,  but  loose  on  a  cap 
of  soft  leather.  Each  feather,  you  see,  has  a  leather 
loop  lashed  on  the  quill  end  for  a  lace  to  run  through 

299 


Two  Little  Savages 

and  hold  it  to  the  cap,  an'  then  a  string  running 
through  the  middle  of  each  feather  to  hold  it — just 
so.  Then  there  are  ways  of  marking  each  feather 
to  show  how  it  was  got.  I  mind  once  I  was  out 
on  a  war  party  with  a  lot  of  Santees — that's  a  brand 
of  Sioux — an'  we  done  a  lot  o'  sneaking  an'  stealing 
an'  scalped  some  of  the  enemy.  Then  we  set  out 
for  home,  and  when  we  was  still  about  thirty  miles 
away  we  sent  on' an  Injun  telegram  of  good  luck. 
The  leader  of  our  crowd  set  fire  to  the  grass  after 
he  had  sent  two  men  half  a  mile  away  on  each 
side  to  do  the  same  thing,  an'  up  went  three  big 
smokes.  There  is  always  some  one  watching  round 
an  Injun  village,  an'  you  bet  when  they  seen  them 
three  smokes  they  knowed  that  we  wuz  a-coming 
back  with  scalps. 

"The  hull  Council  come  out  to  meet  us,  but  not 
too  reckless,  coz  this  might  have  been  the  trick  of 
enemies  to  surprise  them. 

"Well,  when  we  got  there,  maybe  there  wasn't  a 
racket.  You  see,  we  didn't  lose  a  man,  and  we 
brung  in  a  hundred  horses  and  seven  scalps.  Our 
leader  never  said  a  word  to  the  crowd,  but  went 
right  up  to  the  Council  teepee.  He  walked  in — we 
followed.  There  was  the  Head  Chief  an'  all  the 
Council  settin'  smoking.  Our  leader  give  the  'How,' 
an'  then  we  all  l  Howed.'  Then  we  sat  an'  smoked, 
an'  the  Chief  called  on  our  leader  for  an  account 
of  the  little  trip.  He  stood  up  an'  made  a  speech. 

"'Great  Chief  and  Council  of  my  Tribe,'   says  he. 

300 

THE  INDIAN  WAR  BONNET— HOW  TO  MAKE    IT    (See  plate  page  301) 

1.  The  plain  white  Goose  or  Turkey  feather. 

2.  The  same,  with  tip  dyed  black  or  painted  with  indelible  ink. 

3.  The  same,  showing  ruff  of  white  down  lashed  on  with  wax  end. 

4.  The  same,  showing  leather  loop  lashed  on  for  the  holding  lace. 

5.  The  same,  viewed  edge  on. 

6.  The  same,  with  a  red  flannel  cover  sewn  and  lashed  on  the  quill.    This  is  a  '  coup  feather.' 

7.  The  same,  with  a  tuft  of  red  horsehair  lashed  on  the  top  to  mark  a  'grand  coup  '  and  (a)  a  thread  through  the 
middle  of  the  rib  to  hold  feather  in  proper  place.    This  feather  is  marked  with  the  symbol  of  a  grand  coup 
in  target  shooting.    This  symbol  may  be  drawn  on  an  oval  piece  of  paper  gummed  on  the  top  of  the  feather. 

8.  The  tip  of  a  feather  showing  how  the  red  horsehair  tuft  is  lashed  on  with  fine  waxed  thread. 

9.  The  groundwork  of  the  war  bonnet  made  of  any  soft  leather,  (a)  a  broad  band  to  go  round  the  head,  laced  at 
the  joint  or  seam  behind  ;  (b)  a  broad  tail  behind  as  long  as  needed  to  hold  all  the  wearer's  feathers  ;  (c)  two 
leather  thongs  or  straps  over  the  top  ;  (d)  leather  string  to  tie  under  the  chin  ;  (e)  the  buttons,  conchas  or  side 
ornaments  of  shells,  silver,  horn  or  wooden  discs,  even  small  mirrors  and  circles  of  beadwork  were  used,  and 
sometimes  the  conchas  were  left  out  altogether  j  they  may  have  the  owner's  totem  on  them   usually  a  bunch  of 
ermine  tails  hung  from  each  side  of  the  bonnet  just  below  the  concha.    A  bunch  of  horsehair  will  answer  as 
well;  (hh)  the  holes  in  the  leather  for  holding  the  lace  of  the  feather  ;  24  feathers  are  needed  for  the  full  bonnet, 
without  the  tail,  so  they  are  put  less  than  an  inch  apart;  (Hi)  the  lacing  holes  on  the  tail ;  this  is  as  long  as  the 
wearer's  feathers  call  for ;  some  never  have  any  tail. 

(Continued  on  page  303) 


The  War  Bonnet 

(See  description  on  pages  300  and  303) 


War  Bonnet,  Teepee  and  Coups 


'After  we  left  the  village  and  the  men  had  purified 
themselves,  we  travelled  seven  days  and  came  to  the 
Little  Muddy  River.  There  we  found  the  track  of 
a  travelling  band  of  Arapaho.  In  two  days  we 
found  their  camp,  but  they  were  too  strong  for  us, 
so  we  hid  till  night;  then  I  went  alone  into  their 
camp  and  found  that  some  of  them  were  going  off 
on  a  hunt  next  day.  As  I  left  I  met  a  lone  warrior 
coming  in.  I  killed  him  with  my  knife.  For  that 
I  claim  a  coup;  and  I  scalped  him — for  that  I 
claim  another  coup;  an'  before  I  killed  him  I  slapped 
his  face  with  my  hand — for  this  I  claim  &  grand  coup; 
and  I  brought  his  horse  away  with  me — for 
that  I  claim  another  coup.  Is  it  not  so, '  sez  he, 
turning  to  us,  and  we  all  yelled  'How!  How!  How  .r 
For  this  fellow,  'Whooping  Crane,'  was  awful  good 
stuff.  Then  the  Council  agreed  that  he  should 
wear  three  Eagle  feathers,  the  first  for  killing  and 
scalping  the  enemy  in  his  own  camp — that  was  a 
grand  coup,  and  the  feather  had  a  tuft  of  red  hair 
on  it  an'  a  red  spot  on  the  web.  The  next  feather 
was  for  slapping  the  feller's  face  first,  which,  of 
course,  made  it  more  risky.  This  Eagle  feather  had  a 
red  tuft  on  top  an'  a  red  hand  on  the  web;  the  one 
for  stealing  the  horse  had  a  horseshoe,  but  no  tuft, 
coz  it  wasn't  counted  Ai. 

"Then  the  other  Injuns  made  their  claims,  an' 
we  all  got  some  kind  of  honours.  I  mind  one  feller 
was  allowed  to  drag  a  Fox  tail  at  each  heel  when  he 
danced,  an'  another  had  ten  horseshoe  marks  on 


303 
THE  INDIAN  WAR  BONNET— HOW  TO   MAKE  IT     (Continued) 

10.  Side  view  of  the  leather  framework,  showing  a  pattern  sometimes  used  to  decorate  the  front. 

11,  12  and  13.     Beadwork  designs  for  front  band  of  bonnet ;  all  have  white  grounds.     No.  n  (Arapaho)  has  green 

band  at  top  and  bottom  with  red  zigzag.  No.  12  (Ogallala)  has  blue  band  at  top  and  bottom,  red  triangles  ; 
the  concha  is  blue  with  three  white  bars  and  is  cut  off  from  the  band  by  a  red  bar.  No.  13  (Sioux)  has  narrow 
band  above  and  broad  band  below  blue,  the  triangle  red,  and  the  t%vo  little  stars  blue  with  yellow  centre. 

14.  The  bases  of  three  feathers,  showing  how  the  lace  comes  out  of  the  cap  leather,  through  the  eye  or  loop  on  the 
bottom  of  the  quill,  and  in  again. 

15.  The  completed  bonnet,  showing  how  the  feathers  of  the  crown  should  spread  out,  also  showing  the  thread  that 
passes  through  the  middle  of  each  feather  on  inner  side  to  hold  it  in  place  ;  another  thread  passes  from  the 
point  where  the  two  straps  (c  in  Q)  join,  then  dewn  through  each  feather  in  the  tail. 

The  Indians  now  often  use  the  crown  of  a  soft  felt  hat  for  the  basis  of  a  war  bonnet. 


Two  Little  Savages 

an  Eagle  feather  for  stealing  ten  horses,  an'  I  tell 
you  them  Injuns  were  prouder  of  them  feathers 
than  a  general  would  be  of  his  medals." 

"My,  I  wish  I  could  go  out  there  and  be  with 
those  fellows,"  and  Yan  sighed  as  he  compared  his 
commonplace  lot  with  all  this  romantic  splendour. 

"Guess  you'd  soon  get  sick  of  it.  I  know  /  did," 
was  the  answer;  "forever  shooting  and  killing, 
never  at  peace,  never  more  than  three  meals  ahead 
of  starvation  and  just  as  often  three  meals  behind. 
No,  siree,  no  more  for  me." 

"I'd  just  like  to  see  you  start  in  horse-stealing  for 
honours  round  here,"  observed  Sam,  "though  I 
know  who'd  get  the  feathers  if  it  was  chicken  stealing." 

"Say,  Caleb,"  said  Guy,  who,  being  friendly  and 
of  the  country,  never  thought  of  calling  the  old  man 
"Mr.  Clark,"  "didn't  they  give  feathers  for  good 
Deer-hunting?  I'll  bet  I  could  lick  any  of  them  at 
it  if  I  had  a  gun." 

"Didn't  you  hear  me  say  first  thing  that  that 
there  shot  o'  Yan's  should  score  a  'grand  coup'?" 

"Oh,  shucks  !  I  kin  lick  Yan  any  time;  that  was 
just  a  chance  shot.  I'll  bet  if  you  give  feathers  for 
Deer-hunting  I'll  get  them  all." 

"We'll  take  you  up  on  that,"  said  the  oldest 
Chief,  but  the  next  interrupted: 

"Say,  boys,  we  want  to  play  Injun  properly. 
Let's  get  Mr.  Clark  to  show  us  how  to  make  a  real 
war  bonnet.  Then  we'll  wear  only  what  feathers 
we  win." 


304 


"War  Bonnet,  Teepee  and  Coups 

"Ye  mean  by  scalping  the  Whites  an'  horse- 
stealing?" 

"Oh,  no;  there's  lots  of  things  we  can  do — best 
runner,  best  Deer  hunter,  best  swimmer,  best  shot 
with  bow  and  arrows." 

"All  right."  So  they  set  about  questioning 
Caleb.  He  soon  showed  them  how  to  put  a  war 
bonnet  together,  using,  in  spite  of  Yan's  misgivings, 
the  crown  of  an  old  felt  hat  for  the  ground  work  and 
white  goose  quills  trimmed  and  dyed  black  at  the 
tips  for  Eagle  feathers.  But  when  it  came  to  the 
deeds  that  were  to  be  rewarded,  each  one  had  his 
own  ideas. 

"If  Sappy  will  go  to  the  orchard  and  pick  a  peck 
of  cherries  without  old  Cap  gettin'  him,  I'll  give  him 
a  feather  with  all  sorts  of  fixin's  on  it,"  suggested 
Sam. 

"Well,  I'll  bet  you  can't  get  a  chicken  out  of  our 
barn  'thout  our  Dog  gettin'  you,  Mr.  Smarty." 

"Pooh!  I  ain't  stealing  chickens.  Do  you  take 
me  for  a  nigger?  I'm  a  noble  Red-man  and  Head 
Chief  at  that,  I  want  you  to  know,  an'  I've  a  notion 
to  collect  that  scalp  you're  wearin'  now.  You 
know  it  belongs  to  me  and  Yan,"  and  he  sidled 
over,  rolling  his  eye  and  working  his  fingers  in  a 
way  that  upset  Guy's  composure.  "And  I  tell  you 
a  feller  with  one  foot  in  the  grave  should  have  his 
thoughts  on  seriouser  things  than  chicken-stealing. 
This  yere  morbid  cravin'  for  excitement  is  rooinin' 
all  the  young  fellers  nowadays." 

305 


Two  Little  Savages 


Yan  happened  to  glance  at  Caleb.  He  was  gazing 
off  at  nothing,  but  there  was  a  twinkle  in  his  eye 
that  Yan  never  before  saw  there. 

"Let's  go  to  the  teepee.  It's  too  hot  out  here. 
Come  in,  won't  you,  Mr.  Clark?" 

"  Hm.  'Tain't  much  cooler  in  here,  even  if  it  is 
shady,"  remarked  the  old  Trapper.  "Ye  ought  to 
lift  one  side  of  the  canvas  and  get  some  air." 

"Why,  did  the  real  Injuns  do  that?" 

"  I  should  say  they  did.  There  ain't  any  way  they 
didn't  turn  and  twist  the  teepee  for  comfort.  That's 
what  makes  it  so  good.  Ye  kin  live  in  it  forty  below 
zero  an'  fifty  'bove  suffocation  an'  still  be  happy. 
It's  the  changeablest  kind  of  a  layout  for  livin'  in. 
Real  hot  weather  the  thing  looks  like  a  spider  with 
skirts  on  and  held  high,  an'  I  tell  you  ye  got  to  know 
the  weather  for  a  teepee.  Many  a  hot  night  on  the 
plains  I've  been  woke  up  by  hearing  'Tap-tap-tap' 
all  around  me  in  the  still  black  night  and  wondered 
why  all  the  squaws  was  working,  but  they  was  up 
to  drop  the  cover  and  drive  all  the  pegs  deeper,  an' 
within  a  half  hour  there  never  failed  to  come  up  a 
big  storm.  How  they  knew  it  was  a-comin'  I  never 
could  tell.  One  old  woman  said  a  Coyote  told  her, 
an'  maybe  that's  true,  for  they  do  change  their 
song  for  trouble  ahead ;  another  said  it  was  the  flowers 
lookin'  queer  at  sundown,  an'  another  had  a  bad 
dream.  Maybe  they're  all  true;  it  comes  o'  watchin' 
little  things." 

"Do  they  never  get  fooled?"  asked  Little  Beaver. 


306 


"Wat  Bonnet,  Teepee  and  Coups 

"Oncet  in  awhile,  but  not  near  as  often  as  a 
White-man  would. 

''I  mind  once  seeing  an  artist  chap,  one  of  them 
there  portygraf  takers.  He  come  out  to  the  village 
with  a  machine  an'  took  scn?3  of  the  little  teepees. 
Then  I  said,  'Why  don't  you  get  Bull-calf's  squaw 
to  put  up  their  big  teepee  ?  I  tell  you  that's  a 
howler.'  So  off  he  goes,  and  after  dickering  awhile 
he  got  the  squaw  to  put  it  up  for  three  dollars. 
You  bet  it  was  a  stunner,  sure — all  painted  red,  with 
green  an'  yalle^-animals  an'  birds  an'  scalps  galore. 
It  made  that  feller's  eyes  bug  out  to  see  it.  He 
started  in  to  make  some  portygrafs,  then  was  taking 
another  by  hand,  so  as  to  get  the  colours,  an'  I  bet 
it  would  have  crowded  him  to  do  it,  but  jest  when  he 
got  a-going  the  old  squaw  yelled  to  the  other — the 
Chief  hed  two  of  them — an'  lighted  out  to  take 
down  that  there  teepee.  That  artist  he  hollered  to 
stop,  said  he  had  hired  it  to  stay  up  an'  a  bargain 
wras  a  bargain.  But  the  old  squaw  she  jest  kept  on 
a-jabberin'  an'  pintin'  at  the  west.  Pretty  soon  they 
had  the  hull  thing  down  and  rolled  up  an'  that 
artist  a-cussin'  like  a  cow-puncher.  Well,  I  mind  it 
was  a  fine  day,  but  awful  hot,  an'  before  five  minutes 
there  come  a  little  dark  cloud  in  the  west,  then  in 
ten  minutes  come  a-whoopin'  a  regular  small  cyclone, 
an'  it  went  through  that  village  and  wrecked  all  the 
teepees  of  any  size.  That  red  one  would  surely 
have  gone  only  for  that  smart  old  squaw." 

Under  Caleb's   directions  the   breezy  side   of  the 

3°7 


Two  Little  Savages 

i  cover  was  now  raised  a  little,  and  the  shady  side 
much  more.  This  changed  the  teepee  from  a  stifling 
hothouse  into  a  cool,  breezy  shade. 

"An"  when  ye  want  to  know  which  way  is  the 
wind,  if  it's  light,  ye  wet  your  finger  so,  an'  hold  it 
up.  The  windy  side  feels  cool  at  once,  and  by  that 
ye  can  set  your  smoke-flaps." 

"I  want  to  know  about  war  bonnets,"  Yan  now 
put  in.  "I  mean  about  things  to  do  to  wear  feathers 
— that  is,  things  we  can  do." 

"Ye  kin  have  races,  an'  swimmin'  an  bownarrer 
shootin'.  I  should  say  if  you  kin  send  one  o'  them 
arrers  two  hundred  yards  that  would  kill  a  Buffalo 
at  twenty  feet.  I'd  think  that  was  pretty  good. 
Yes,  I'd  call  that  way  up." 

"What — a  grand  coup?" 

"Yes,  I  reckon;  an'  if  you  fell  short  on'y  fifty 
yards  that'd  still  kill  a  Deer,  an' we  could  call  that  a 
coup.  If,"  continued  Caleb,  "you  kin  hit  that  old 
gunny-sack  buck  plunk  in  the  heart  at  fift)i>  yards 
first  shot  I'd  call  that  away  up;  an'  if  you  hit  it  at 
seventy-five  yards  in  the  heart  no  matter  how  many 
tries,  I'd  call  you  a  shot.  If  you  kin  hit  a  nine- 
inch  bull's-eye  two  out  of  three  at  forty  yards  every 
time  an'  no  fluke,  you'd  hold  your  own  among  Injuns, 
though  I  must  say  they  don't  go  in  much  for  shoot 
ing  at  a  target.  They  shoot  at  'most  anything  they 
see  in  the  woods.  I've  seen  the  little  copper-coloured 
kids  shooting  away  at  butterflies.  Then  they  have 
matches — they  try  who  can  have  most  arrers  in  the 
air  at  one  time.  To  have  five  in  the  air  at  once  is 


308 


War  Bonnet,  Teepee  and  Coups 

considered  good.  It  means  powerful  fast  work  and 
far  shooting.  You  got  to  hold  a  bunch  handy  in 
the  left  hand  fur  that.  The  most  I  ever  seen  one 
man  have  up  at  once  was  eight.  That  was  reckoned 
'big  medicine,'  an'  any  one  that  can  keep  up  seven 
is  considered  swell." 

"Do  you  know  any  other  things  besides  bows  and 
arrows  that  would  do?" 

"I  think  that  a  rubbing-stick  fire  ought  to  count," 
interrupted  Sam.  "I  want  that  in  coz  Guy  can't 
do  it.  Any  one  who  kin  do  it  at  all  gets  a  feather, 
an'  any  one  who  kin  do  it  in  one  minute  gets  a 
swagger  feather,  or  whatever  you  call  it ;  that  takes 
care  of  Yan  and  me  an'  leaves  Guy  out  in  the  cold." 

"I'll  bet  I  kin  hunt  Deer  all  round  you  both,  I  kin." 

"Oh,  shut  up,  Sappy;  we're  tired  a-hearing  about 
your  Deer  hunting.  We're  going  to  abolish  that 
game."  Then  Sam  continued,  apparently  addressing 
Caleb,  "Do  you  know  any  Injun  games?" 

But  Caleb  took  no  notice. 

Presently  Yan  said,  "Don't  the  Injuns  play 
games,  Mr.  Clark? 

"Well,  yes,  I  kin  show  you  two  Injun  games  that 
will  test  your  eyesight." 

"I  bet  I  kin  beat  any  one  at  it,"  Guy  made  haste  to 
tell.  "  Why,  I  seen  that  Deer  before  Yan  could " 

"Oh,  shut  up,  Guy,"  Yan  now  exclaimed.  A 
peculiar  sound — "Wheet — wheel — wheel" — made  Sappy 
turn.  He  saw  Sam  with  an  immense  knife,  whet 
ting  it  most  vigorously  and  casting  a  hungry,  fishy 

309 


Two  Little  Savages 


04 

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O4» 

^ 
Count 
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trs  (S-nv 
r  Gvcne 

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Ts^epti 

of  QU 

MM)  V> 

tk5ijhi 

. 
I 

glance  from  time  to  time  to  the  "yaller  moss-tuft" 
on  Guy's  neck. 

"Time  has  came,"  he  said  to  nobody  in  particular. 

"You  better  let  me  alone,"  whined  Guy,  for  that 
horrible  "wheel — wheet"  jarred  his  nerves  somehow. 
He  looked  toward. Yan,  and  seeing,  as  he  thought, 
the  suggestion  of  a  smile,  he  felt  more  comfortable, 
but  a  glance  at  Sam  dispelled  his  comfort ;  the  Wood 
pecker's  face  was  absolutely  inscrutable  and  per 
fectly  demoniac  with  paint. 

"Why  don't  you  whet  up,  Little  Beaver?  Don't 
you  want  your  share?"  asked  the  Head  Chief  through 
his  teeth. 

"I  vote  we  let  him  wear  it  till  he  brags  again 
about  his  Deer-hunting.  Then  off  she  comes  to  the 
bone,"  was  the  reply.  "Tell  us  about  the  Injun 
game,  Mr.  Clark." 

"I  pretty  near  forget  it  now,  but  le's  see.  They 
make  two  squares  on  the  ground  or  on  two  skins; 
each  one  is  cut  up  in  twenty-five  smaller  squares 
with  lines  like  that.  Then  they  have,  say,  ten  rings 
an'  ten  nuts  or  pebbles.  One  player  takes  five 
rings  an'  five  nuts  an'  sets  them  around  on  the 
squares  of  one  set,  an'  don't  let  the  other  see  till  all 
is  ready;  then  the  other  turns  an'  looks  at  it  while 
some  one  else  sings  a  little  song  that  one  of  the 
boys  turned  into: 

"  'Ki  yi  ya — ki  yi  yee, 

You  think  yer  smart  as  ye  kin  be, 
You  think  yer  awful  quick  to  see- 
But  yer  not  too  quick  for  me, 
Ki  yi  ya — ki  yi  yee.' 
310 


"War  Bonnet,  Teepee  and  Coups 


"  Then  the  first  square  is  covered  with  a  basket 
or  anything  and  the  second  player  must  cover 
the  other  skin  with  counters  just  the  same  from 
memory.  For  every  counter  he  gets  on  the  right 
square  he  counts  one,  and  loses  one  for  each  on 
the  wrong  square." 

"I'll  bet  I  kin  -  "  Guy  began,  but  Sam's  hand 
gripped  his  moss-tuft. 

"Here,  you  let  me  alone.  I  ain't  bragging.  I'm 
only  telling  the  simple  truth." 

"Ugh  !  Better  tell  some  simple  lies,  then  —  much 
safer,"  said  the  Great  Woodpecker,  with  horrid  calm 
and  meaning.  "If  ever  I  lift  that  scalp  you'll  catch 
cold  and  die,  do  ye  know  it?" 

Again  Yan  could  see  that  Caleb  had  to  look  far 
away  to  avoid  taking  an  apparent  interest. 

.  "There's  another  game.  I  don't  know  as  it's 
Injun,  but  it's  the  kind  o'  game  where  an  Injun 
could  win.  They  first  made  two  six-inch  squares  of 
white  wood  or  card,  then  on  each  they  made  rings  like 
a  target  or  squares  like  the  quicksight  game,  or  else 
two  Rabbits  the  same  on  each.  One  feller  takes  six 
spots  of  black,  half  an  inch  across,  an'  sticks  them 
on  one,  scattering  anyhow,  an'  sets  it  up  a  hundred 
yards  off;  another  feller  takes  same  number  of 
spots  an'  the  other  Rabbit  an'  walks  up  till  he  can 
see  to  fix  his  Rabbit  the  same.  If  he  kin  do  it  at 
seventy-five  yards  he's  a  swell;  if  he  kin  do  it  at 


311 


These  identical  squares  may  be  used  at  %  the 
distance  given  for  the  6- inch  ones 


six 


Two  Little  Savages 

sixty  yards  he's  away  up,  but  less  than  fifty  yards 
is  no  good.  I  seen  the  boys  have  lots  o'  fun  out  o' 
it.  They  try  to  fool  each  other  every  way,  putting 
one  spot  right  on  another  or  leaving  some  off.  It's 
a  sure  'nough  test  of  good  eyes." 

"I'll  bet "  began  Sappy  again,  but  a  loud 

savage  "Grrrr"  from  Sam,  who  knew  perfectly 
well  what  was  coming,  put  a  stop  to  the  bet,  what 
ever  it  was. 

"There  was  two  other  Injun  tests  of  eyes  that  I 
mind  now.  Some  old  Buck  would  show  the  young 
sters  the  Pleiades — them's  the  little  stars  that  the 
Injuns  call  the  Bunch — an'  ask  'How  many  kin 
you  see?'  Some  could  sho'ly  see  five  or  six  an' 
some  could  make  out  seven.  Them  as  sees  seven 
is  mighty  well  off  for  eyes.  Ye  can't  see  the  Pleiades 
now — they  belong  to  the  winter  nights ;  but  you  kin 
see  the  Dipper  the  hull  year  round,  turning  about 
the  North  Star.  The  Injuns  call  this  the  'Broken 
Back/  an'  I've  heard  the  old  fellers  ask  the  boys: 
'You  see  the  Old  Squaw — that's  the  star  second 
from  the  end,  the  one  at  the  bend  of  the  handle — 
well,  she  has  a  papoose  on  her  back.  Kin  you  see  the 
papoose?'  an'  sure  enough,  when  my  eyes  was  real 
good  I  could  see  the  little  baby  star  tucked  in  by 
the  big  un.  It's  a  mighty  good  test  of  eyes  if  you 
kin  see  that." 

"Eh "  began  Guy. 

But  "Grrrrrrrrr"  from  Sam  stopped  him  in  time. 

Again    Caleb's    eyes    wandered    afar.     Then    he 


The  "PUud.es 
AS  sctn  by 

£xfr4orcf(7i4rv  Eye* 


rf  r<»r  from  (tft  in 
Xtycr /*   «t 


Bonnet,  Teepee  and  Coups 

stepped  out  of  the  teepee  and  Yan  heard  him  mutter, 
"Consarn  that  whelp,  he  makes  me  laugh  spite  o' 
myself."  He  went  off  a  little  way  into  the  woods 
and  presently  called  "Yan!  Guy!  Come  here." 
All  three  ran  out.  "Talking  about  eyes,  what's 
that?"  An  opening  in  the  foliage  gave  a  glimpse 
of  the  distant  Burns's  clover  field.  "Looks  like  a 
small  Bear." 

"Woodchuck  !  That's  our  Woodchuck  !  That's 
the  ole  sinner  that  throwed  Paw  ofFn  the  mower. 
Where's  my  bone-arrer?"  and  Guy  went  for  his 
weapons. 

The  boys  ran  for  the  fence  of  the  clover  field, 
going  more  cautiously  as  they  came  near.  Still 
the  old  Woodchuck  heard  something  and  sat  up 
erect  on  his  haunches.  He  was  a  monster,  and 
out  on  the  smooth  clover  field  he  did  look  like  a 
very  small  Bear.  His  chestnut  breast  was  curiously 
relieved  by  his  unusually  gray  back  and  head. 

"Paw  says  it's  his  sins  as  turned  his  head  gray. 
He's  a  hoary  headed  sinner,  an'  he  ain't  repented 
o'  none  o'  them  so  far,  but  I'm  after  him  now." 

"Hold  on!  Start  even!"  said  Sam,  seeing  that 
Guy  was  prepared  to  shoot. 

So  all  drew  together,  standing  in  a  row  like  an  old 
picture  of  the  battle  of  Crecy.  The  arrows  scattered 
about  the  Woodchuck.  Most  went  much  coo  far, 
none  went  near  because  he  was  closer  than  the/  had 
supposed,  but  he  scuttled  away  into  his  hole,  there, 
no  doubt,  to  plan  a  new  trap  for  the  man  with  the 
mower. 


VII 
Campercraft 

HOW'D  you  sleep,  Sam?" 
"Didn't  sleep  a  durn  bit." 
"Neither  did  I.     I  was  shivering  all  night. 
I  got  up  an'  put  the  spare  blanket  on,  but  it  didn't 
do  any  good." 

'  Wonder  if  there  was  a  chills-and-fever  fog  or 
something?" 

"How'd  you  find  it,  Sappy?" 

"All  right." 

"Didn't  smell  any  fog?" 

"Nope." 

The  next  night  it  was  even  worse.  Guy  slept 
placidly,  if  noisily,  but  Sam  and  Yan  tumbled  about 
and  shivered  for  hours.  In  the  morning  at  dawn  Sam 
sat  up. 

"Well,  I  tell  you  this  is  no  joke.  Fun's  fun,  but 
if  I  am  going  to  have  the  shivers  every  night  I'm 
going  home  while  I'm  able." 

Yan  said  nothing.  He  was  very  glum.  He  felt 
much  as  Sam  did,  but  was  less  ready  to  give  up  the 
outing. 

Their  blues  were  nearly  dispelled  when  the  warm 


Campercraft 

sun  came  up,  but  still  they  dreaded  the  coming 
night. 

"Wonder  what  it  is,"  said  Little  Beaver. 

"Tears  to  me  powerful  like  chills  and  fever  and 
then  again  it  don't.  Maybe  we  drink  too  much 
swamp  water.  I  believe  we're  p'isoned  with  Guy's 
cooking." 

"More  like  getting  scurvy  from  too  much  meat. 
Let's  ask  Caleb." 

Caleb  came  around  that  afternoon  or  they  would 
have  gone  after  him.  He  heard  Van's  story  in 
silence,  then,  "Have  ye  sunned  your  blankets  sense 
ye  came?" 

"No." 

Caleb  went  into  the  teepee,  felt  the  blankets,  then 
grunted:  "H-m!  Jest  so.  They're  nigh  soppin'. 
You  turn  in  night  after  night  an'  sweat  an'  sweat 
in  them  blankets  an'  wonder  why  they're  damp. 
Hain't  you  seen  your  ma  air  the  blankets  every 
day  at  home?  Every  Injun  squaw  knows  that 
much,  an'  every  other  day  at  least  she  gives  the 
blankets  a  sun  roast  for  three  hours  in  the  middle 
of  the  day,  or,  failing  that,  dries  them  at  the  fire. 
Dry  out  your  blankets  and  you  won't  have  no  more 
chills." 

The  boys  set  about  it  at  once,  and  that  night  they 
experienced  again  the  sweet,  warm  sleep  of  healthy 
youth. 

There  was  another  lesson  they  had  to  learn  in 
campercraft.  The  Mosquitoes  were  always  more 


Two  Little  Savages 

or  less  of  a  plague,  /vt  night  they  forced  the  boys 
into  the  teepee,  but  they  soon  learned  to  smudge 
the  insects  with  a  wad  of  green  grass  on  the  hot  fire. 
This  they  would  throw  on  at  sundown,  then  go 
outside,  closing  the  teepee  tight  and  eat  supper 
around  the  cooking  fire.  After  that  was  over  they 
would  cautiously  open  the  teepee  to  find  the  grass 
all  gone  and  the  fire  low,  a  dense  cloud  of  smoke 
still  in  the  upper  part,  but  below  it  clear  air.  They 
would  then  brush  off  the  Mosquitoes  that  had  alighted 
on  their  clothes,  crawl  into  the  lodge  and  close  the 
door  tight.  Not  a  Mosquito  was  left  alive  in  it, 
and  the  smoke  hanging  about  the  smoke-vent 
was  enough  to  keep  them  from  coming  in,  and 
so  they  slept  in  peace.  Thus  they  could  baffle 
the  worst  pest  of  the  woods.  But  there  was  yet 
another  destroyer  of  comfort  by  day,  and  this 
was  the  Blue-bottle  flies.  There  seemed  more  of 
them  as  time  went  on,  and  they  laid  masses  of  yel 
lowish  eggs  on  anything  that  smelled  like  meat  or 
corruption.  They  buzzed  about  the  table  and  got 
into  the  dishes;  their  dead,  drowned  and  mangled 
bodies  were  polluting  all  the  food,  till  Caleb  remarked 
during  one  of  his  ever-increasing  visits:  "It's  your 
own  fault.  Look  at  all  the  filth  ye  leave  scattered 
about." 

There  was  no  blinking  the  fact ;  for  fifty  feet  around 
the  teepee  the  ground  was  strewn  with  scraps  of 
paper,  tins  and  food.  To  one  side  was  a  mass  of 
potato  peelings,  bones,  fish-scales  and  filth,  and 


Campercraft 


everywhere  were  the  buzzing  flies,  to  be  plagues  all 
day,  till  at  sundown  the  Mosquitoes  relieved  them 
and  took  the  night  shift  of  the  office  of  torment. 

"I  want  to  learn,  especially  if  it's  Injun,"  said 
Little  Beaver.  "  What  had  we  best  do  ?  " 

"Wall,  first  ye  could  move  camp;  second,  ye  could 
clean  this." 

As  there  was  no  other  available  camp  ground 
they  had  no  choice,  and  Yan  said  with  energy: 
"Boys,  we  got  to  clean  this  and  keep  it  clean,  too. 
We'll  dig  a  hole  for  everything  that  won't  burn." 

So  Yan  seized  the  spade  and  began  to  dig  in  the 
bushes  not  far  from  the  teepee.  Sam  and  Guy 
were  gradually  drawn  in.  They  began  gathering 
all  the  rubbish  and  threw  it  into  the  hole.  As 
they  tumbled  in  bones,  tins  and  scraps  of  bread  Yan 
said:  "I  just  hate  to  see  that  bread  go  in.  It 
doesn't  seem  right  when  there's  so  many  living 
things  would  be  glad  to  get  it." 

At  this,  Caleb,  who  was  sitting  on  a  log  placidly 
smoking,  said: 

"  Now,  if  ye  want  to  be  real  Injun,  ye  gather  all  the 
eatables  ye  don't  \vant — meat,  bread  and  anything, 
an'  every  day  put  it  on  some  high  place.  Most 
generally  the  Injuns  has  a  rock — they  call  it  Wakan; 
that  means  sacred  medicine — an'  there  they  leave 
scraps  of  food  to  please  the  good  spirits.  Av  coorse 
it's  the  birds  and  Squirrels  gets  it  all;  but  the  Injun 
is  content  as  long  as  it's  gone,  an'  if  ye  argy  with 
them  that  'tain't  the  spirits  gets  it,  but  the  birds, 


3*7 


Two  Little  Savages 

they  say:  'That  doesn't  matter.  The  birds  couldn't 
get  it  if  the  spirits  didn't  want  them  to  have  it,'  or 
maybe  the  birds  took  it  to  carry  to  the  spirits  !" 

Then  the  Grand  Council  went  out  in  a  body  to 
seek  the  Wakan  Rock.  They  found  a  good  one  in 
the  open  part  of  the  woods,  and  it  became  a  daily 
duty  of  one  to  carry  the  remnants  of  food  to  the 
rock.  They  were  probably  less  acceptable  to  the 
wood  creatures  than  they  would  have  been  half  a 
year  later,  but  they  soon  found  that  there  were 
many  birds  glad  to  eat  at  the  Wakan;  and  moreover, 
that  before  long  there  was  a  trail  from  the  brook, 
only  twenty-five  yards  away,  that  told  of  four-foots 
also  enjoying  the  bounty  of  the  good  spirits. 

Within  three  days  of  this  the  plague  of  Blue 
bottles  was  over,  and  the  boys  realized  that,  judging 
by  its  effects,  the  keeping  of  a  dirty  camp  is  a  crime. 

One  other  thing  old  Caleb  insisted  on:  "Yan," 
said  he,  "you  didn't  ought  to  drink  that  creek  water 
now;  it  ain't  hardly  runnin'.  The  sun  hez  it  het 
up,  an'  it's  gettin'  too  crawly  to  be  healthy." 

"Well,  what  are  we  going  to  do?"  said  Sam, 
though  he  might  as  well  have  addressed  the  brook 
itself. 

"What  can  we  do,  Mr.  Clark?" 

"Dig  a  well!" 

"Phew!  We're  out  here  for  fun!"  was  Sam's 
reply. 

"Dig  an  Injun  well,"  Caleb  said.  "Half  an  hour 
will  do  it.  Here,  I'll  show  you." 

318 


Campercraft 

He  took  the  spade  and,  seeking  a  dry  spot, 
about  twenty  feet  from  the  upper  end  of  the 
pond  he  dug  a  hole  some  two  feet  square.  By 
the  time  he  was  down  three  feet  the  water  was 
oozing  in  fast.  He  got  it  down  about  four  feet 
and  then  had  to  stop,  on  account  of  inflow.  He 
took  a  bucket  and  bailed  the  muddy  stuff  out 
right  to  the  bottom,  and  let  it  fill  up  to  be  again 
bailed  out.  After  three  bailings  the  water  came 
in  cold,  sweet,  and  pure  as  crystal. 

"There,"  said  he,  "that  water  is  from  your  pond, 
but'  it  is  filtered  through  twenty  feet  of  earth  and 
sand.  That's  the  way  to  get  cool,  pure  water  out 
of  the  dirtiest  of  swamps.  That's  an  Injun  well." 


VIII 
The  Indian  Drum 

44  Oh,  that  hair  of  horse  and  skin  of  sheep  should 
Have  such  power  to  move  the  souls  of  men." 

IF  you  were  real  Injun  you'd  make  a  drum  of  that," 
said  Caleb  to  Yan,  as  they  came  to  a  Basswood 
blown  over  by  a  recent  storm  and  now  showing 
its  weakness,  for  it  was  quite  hollow — a  mere  shell. 

"  How  do  they  do  it  ?     I  want  to  know  how." 

"Get  me  the  axe." 

Yan  ran  for  the  axe.  Caleb  cut  out  a  straight, 
unbroken  section  about  two  feet  long.  This  they 
carried  to  camp. 

"Coorse  ye  know,"  said  Caleb,  "ye  can't  have  a 
drum  without  skins  for  heads." 

"What  kind  of  skins?" 

"Oh,  Horse,  Dog,  Cow,  Calf — 'most  any  kind 
that's  strong  enough." 

"I  got  a  Calfskin  in  our  barn,  an'  I  know  where 
there's  another  in  the  shed,  but  it's  all  chawed  up 
with  Rats.  Them's  mine.  I  killed  them  Calves. 
Paw  give  me  the  skins  for  kill  in'  an'  skinnin'  them. 
Oh,  you  jest  ought  to  see  me  kill  a  Calf " 

Guy  was  going  off  into  one  of  his  autopanegyrics 


320 


The  Indian  Drum 

when  Sam  /ho  was  now  being  rubbed  on  a  sore 
place,  gave  a  "Whoop!  "  and  grabbed  the  tow-tuft 
with  a  jerk  that  sent  the  Third  War  Chief  sprawling 
and  ended  the  panegyric  in  the  usual  volley  of 
' '  you-let-me-'lones. ' ' 

"Oh,  quit,  Sam,"  objected  Little  Beaver.  "You 
can't  stop  a  Dog  barking.  It's  his  nature."  Then 
to  Guy:  "Never  mind,  Guy;  you  are  not  hurt.  I'll 
bet  you  can  beat  him  hunting  Deer,  and  you  can  see 
twice  as  far  as  he  can." 

"Yes,  I  kin;  that's  what  makes  him  so  mad.  I'll 
bet  I  kin  see  three  times  as  far — maybe  five  times," 
was  the  answer  in  injured  tones. 

"Go  on  now,  Guy,  and  get  the  skins — that  is,  if 
you  want  a  drum  for  the  war  dance.  You're  the 
only  one  in  the  crowd  that's  man  enough  to  make 
the  raise  of  a  hide,"  and  fired  by  this  flattery,  Guy 
sped  away. 

Meanwhile  Caleb  worked  on  the  hollow  log.  He 
trimmed  off  the  bark,  then  with  the  hatchet  he 
cleared  out  all  the  punk  and  splinters  inside.  He 
made  a  fire  on  the  ground  in  the  middle  of  the  drum- 
log  as  it  stood  on  end,  and  watching  carefully,  he 
lifted  it  off  from  time  to  time  and  chopped  away  all 
the  charred  parts,  smoothing  and  trimming  till  he  had 
the  log  down  thin  and  smooth  within  and  without. 
They  heard  Guy  shouting  soon  after  he  left.  They 
thought  him  near  at  hand,  but  he  did  not  come. 
Trimming  the  drum-log  took  a  couple  of  hours,  and 
still  Guy  did  not  return.  The  remark  from  Caleb, 

321 


Two  Little  Savages 

"'Bout  ready  for  the  skins  now!"  called  from  Sam 
the  explanation,  "Guess  Old  Man  Burns  snapped 
him  up  and  put  him  to  weeding  the  garden.  Prob 
ably  that  was  him  we  heard  gettin'  licked." 

"Old  Man  Burns"  was  a  poor  and  shiftless  char 
acter,  a  thin,  stoop-shouldered  man.  He  was  only 
thirty-five  years  of  age,  but,  being  married,  that 
was  enough  to  secure  for  him  the  title  "Old  Man." 
In  Sanger,  if  Tom  Nolan  was  a  bachelor  at  eighty 
years  of  age  he  would  still  be  Tom  Nolan,  "wan 
of  the  bhoys,"  but  if  he  married  at  twenty  he  at 
once  became  "Old  Man  Nolan." 

Mrs.  Burns  had  produced  the  usual  string  of  tow- 
tops,  but  several  had  died,  the  charitable  neighbours 
said  of  starvation,  leaving  Guy,  the  eldest,  his 
mother's  darling,  then  a  gap  and  four  little  girls, 
four,  three,  two  and  one  years  of  age.  She  was  a 
fat,  fair,  easy-going  person,  with  a  general  sense 
of  antagonism  to  her  husband,  who  was,  of  course, 
the  natural  enemy  of  the  children.  Jim  Burns 
cherished  the  ideal  of  bringing  ' '  that  boy ' '  up  right — 
that  is,  getting  all  the  work  he  could  out  of  him — 
and  Guy  clung  to  his  own  ideal  of  doing  as  little 
work  as  possible.  In  this  clash  of  ideals  Guy's 
mother  was  his  firm,  though  more  or  less  secret,  ally. 
He  was  without  fault  in  her  eyes:  all  that  he  did  was 
right.  His  freckled  visage  and  pudgy  face  were 
types  of  noble  beauty,  standards  of  comeliness  and 
human  excellence;  his  ways  were  ways  of  pleasant 
ness  and  all  his  paths  were  peace;  Margat  Burns 
was  sure  of  it. 

322 


The  Indian  Drum 

Burns  had  a  good  deal  of  natural  affection,  but 
he  was  erratic;  sometimes  he  would  flog  Guy  merci 
lessly  for  nothing,  and  again  laugh  at  some  serious 
misdeed,  so  that  the  boy  never  knew  just  what  to 
expect,  and  kept  on  the  safe  side  by  avoiding  his 
"Paw"  as  much  as  possible.  His  visits  to  the 
camp  had  been  thoroughly  disapproved,  partly 
because  it  was  on  Old  Man  Raften's  land  and  partly 
because  it  enabled  Guy  to  dodge  the  chores.  Burns 
had  been  quite  violent  about  it  once  or  twice,  but 
Mrs.  Burns  had  the  great  advantage  of  persistence, 
and  like  the  steady  strain  of  the  skilful  angler  on 
the  slender  line,  it  wins  in  the  end  against  the  erratic 
violence  of  the  strongest  trout.  She  had  managed 
then  that  Guy  should  join  the  Injun  camp,  and 
gloried  in  his  outrageously  exaggerated  accounts  of 
how  he  could  lick  them  all  at  anything,  "though 
they  wuz  so  much  older 'n  bigger'n  he  wuz." 

But  on  this  day  he  was  fallen  in  hard  luck.  His 
father  saw  him  coming,  met  him  with  a  "gad"  and 
lashed  him  furiously.  Knowing  perfectly  well  that 
the  flogging  would  not  stop  till  the  proper  effect  was 
produced,  and  that  was  to  be  gauged  by  the  racket, 
Guy  yelled  his  loudest.  This  was  the  uproar  the 
boys  had  heard. 

"Xow.  ye  idle  young  scut!  I'll  larn  ye  to  go 
round  leaving  bars  down.  You  go  an'  "  tend  to 
your  work."  So  instead  of  hiking  back  gloriously 
laden  with  Calfskins,  Guy  was  sent  to  ignominious 
and  un-Injun  toil  in  the  garden. 

323 


Two  Little  Savages 

Soon  he  heard  his  mother:  "Guysie,  Guysie." 
He  dropped  his  hoe  and  walked  to  the  kitchen. 

"Where  you  goin'?"  roared  his  father  from  afar. 
"Go  back  and  mind  your  work." 

"Maw  wants  me-.     She  called  me." 

"You  mind  your  work.  Don't  you  dar'  on  your 
life  to  go  thayer." 

But  Guy  took  no  notice  and  walked  on  to  his 
mother.  He  knew  that  at  this  post -thrashing  stage 
of  wrath  his  father  was  mouthy  and  harmless,  and 
soon  he  was  happy  eating  a  huge  piece  of  bread  and 
jam. 

"Poor  dear,  you  must  be  hungry,  an'  your  Paw 
was  so  mean  to  you.  There,  now,  don't  cry," 
for  Guy  began  to  weep  again  at  the  recollection  of 
his  wrongs.  Then  she  whispered  confidentially: 
"Paw's  going  to  Downey's  this  afternoon,  an'  you 
can  slip  away  as  soon  as  he's  gone,  an'  if  you  work 
well  before  that  he  won't  be  so  awful  mad  after 
you  come  back.  But  be  sure  you  don't  let  down 
the  bars,  coz  if  the  pig  was  to  get  in  Raf ten's  woods 
dear  knows  what." 

This  was  the  reason  of  Guy's  delay.  He  did  not 
return  to  camp  with  the  skins  till  late  that  day. 
As  soon  as  he  was  gone,  his  foolish,  doting  mother, 
already  crushed  with  the  burden  of  the  house,  left 
everything  and  hoed  two  or  three  extra  rows  of 
cabbages,  so  "Paw"  should  find  a  great  showing  of 
work  when  he  came  back. 

The  Calfskins  were  hard  as  tin  and,  of  course,  had 
the  hair  on 

324 


The  Indian  Drum 


Caleb  remarked,  "It'll  take  two  or  three  days  to 
get  them  right,"  and  buried  them  in  a  marshy,  muddy 
pool  in  the  full  sunlight.  "The  warmer  the  better." 

Three  days  later  he  took  them  out.  Instead  of 
being  thin,  hard,  yellow,  semi-transparent,  they 
now  were  much  thicker,  densely  white,  and  soft 
as  silk.  The  hair  was  easily  scraped  off  and  the 
two  pieces  were  pronounced  all  right  for  drum 
heads. 

Caleb  washed  them  thoroughly  in  warm  water, 
with  soap  to  clear  off  the  grease,  scraping  them  on 
both  sides  with  a  blunt  knife;  then  he  straightened 
the  outer  edge  of  the  largest,  and  cut  a  thin  strip 
round  and  round  it  till  he  had  some  sixty  feet  of  raw 
hide  line,  about  three-quarters  of  an  inch  wide. 
This  he  twisted,  rolled  and  stretched  until  it  was 
nearly  round,  then  he  cut  from  the  remainder  a 
circular  piece  thirty  inches  across,  and  a  second  from 
the  "unchawed"  part  of  the  other  skin.  He  laid 
these  one  on  the  other,  and  with  the  sharp  point  of 
a  knife  he  made  a  row  of  holes  in  both,  one  inch 
from  the  edge  and  two  inches  apart.  Then  he  set  one 
skin  on  the  ground,  the  drum-log  on  that  and  the 
other  skin  on  the  top,  and  bound  them  together  with 
the  long  lace,  running  it  from  hole  No.  i  on  the 
top  to  No.  2  on  the  bottom,  then  to  No.  3  on  the  top, 
and  No.  4  on  the  bottom,  and  so  on  twice  around, 
till  every  hole  had  a  lace  through  it  and  the  crossing 
laces  made  a  diamond  pattern  all  around.  At 
first  this  was  done  loosely,  but  tightened  up  when 


325 


Two  Little  Savages 

once  around,  and  finally  both  the  drum-heads  were 
drawn  tense.  To  the  surprise  of  all,  Guy  promptly 
took  possession  of  the  finished  drum.  "Them's 
my  Calfskins,"  which,  of  course,  was  true. 

And  Caleb  said, -with  a  twinkle  in  his  eye,  "The 
wood  seems  to  go  with  the  skins." 

A  drumstick  of  wood,  with  a  piece  of  sacking 
lashed  on  to  soften  it,  was  made,  and  Guy  was  dis 
gusted  to  find  how  little  sound  the  drum  gave  out. 

"'Bout  like  pounding  a  fur  cap  with  a  lamb's 
tail,"  Sam  thought. 

"You  hang  that  up  in  the  shade  to  dry  and  you'll 
find  a  change,"  said  the  Trapper. 

It  was  quite  curious  to  note  the  effect  of  the  drying 
as  the  hours  went  by.  The  drum  seemed  to  be 
wracking  and  straining  itself  in  the  agony  of  effort, 
and  slight  noises  came  from  it  at  times.  When 
perfectly  dry  the  semi-transparency  of  the  raw 
hide  came  back,  and  the  sound  now  was  one  to 
thrill  the  Red-man's  heart. 

Caleb  taught  them  a  little  Indian  war  chant,  and 
they  danced  round  to  it  as  he  drummed  and  sang, 
till  their  savage  instincts  seemed  to  revive.  But 
above  all  it  worked  on  Yan.  As  he  pranced  around 
in  step  his  whole  nature  seemed  to  respond;  he  felt 
himself  a  part  of  that  dance.  It  was  in  himself; 
it  thrilled  him  through  and  through  and  sent  his 
blood  exulting.  He  would  gladly  have  given  up  all 
the  White-man's  "glorious  gains"  to  live  with  the 
feeling  called  up  by  that  Indian  drum. 

326 


IX 

The  Cat  and  the  Skunk 

SAM  was  away  on  a  "massacree"  to  get  some 
bread.  Guy  had  been  trapped  by  his  natural 
enemy  and  was  serving  a  term  of  hard  labour  in 
the  garden;  so  Yan  was  alone  in  camp.  He  went 
around  the  various  mud  albums,  but  discovered 
nothing  new,  except  the  fact  that  tracks  were  getting 
more  numerous.  There  were  small  Skunk  and  ^ 
Mink  tracks  with  the  large  ones  now.  As  he  came  "\p 
by  the  brush  fence  at  the  end  of  the  blazed  trail  he 
saw  a  dainty  little  Yellow  Warbler  feeding  a  great 
lubberly  young  Cow-bird  that,  evidently,  it  had 
brought  up.  He  had  often  heard  that  the  Cow-bird 
habitually  "plays  Cuckoo"  and  leaves  its  egg  in 
the  nest  of  another  bird,  but  this  was  the  first  time 
he  had  actually  seen  anything  of  it  with  his  own 
eyes.  As  he  watched  the  awkward  mud-coloured 
Cow-bird  nutter  its  ungrown  wings  and  beg  help 
from  the  brilliant  little  Warbler,  less  than  half  its 
size,  he  wondered  whether  the  fond  mother  really 
was  fooled  into  thinking  it  her  own  young,  or  whether 
she  did  it  simply  out  of  compassion  for  the  foundling. 
He  now  turned  down  creek  to  the  lower  mud 
album,  and  was  puzzled  by  a  new  track  like  this. 

327 


Two  Little  Savages 


He  sketched  it,  but  before  the  drawing  was  done 
it  dawned  on  him  that  this  must  be  the  track  of  a 
young  Mud-turtle.-  He  also  saw  a  lot  of  very  familiar 
tracks,  not  a  few  being  those  of  the  common  Cat, 
and  he  wondered  why  they  should  be  about  so  much 
and  yet  so  rarely  seen.  Of  course  the  animals  were 
chiefly  nocturnal,  but  the  boys  were  partly  so, 
and  always  on  the  ground  now,  so  that  explana 
tion  was  not  satisfactory.  He  lay  down  on  his 
breast  at  the  edge  of  the  brook,  which  had  here  cut 
in  a  channel  with  steep  clay  walls  six  feet  high  and 
twenty  feet  apart.  The  stream  was  very  small  now 
— a  mere  thread  of  water  zigzagging  over  the  level 
muddy  floor  of  the  "canon,"  as  Yan  loved  to  call 
it.  A  broad,  muddy  margin  at  each  side  of  the 
water  made  a  fine  place  of  record  for  the  travelling 
Four-foots,  and  tracks  new  and  old  were  there  in 
abundance. 

The  herbage  on  the  bank  was  very  rank  and  full 
of  noisy  Grasshoppers  and  Crickets.  Great  masses  of 
orange  Jewelweed  on  one  side  were  variegated  with 
some  wonderful  Cardinal  flowers.  Yan  viewed  all 
this  with  placid  content.  He  knew  their  names 
now,  and  thus  they  were  transferred  from  the  list 
of  tantalizing  mysteries  to  that  of  engaging  and 
wonderful  friends.  As  he  lay  there  on  his  breast 
his  thoughts  wandered  back  to  the  days  when  he 
did  not  know  the  names  of  any  flowers  or  birds — when 
all  was  strange  and  he  alone  in  his  hunger  to  know 
them,  and  Bonnerton  came  back  to  him  with  new, 


328 


The  Cat  and  the  Skunk 

strange  force  of  reminder.  His  father  and  mother, 
his  brother  and  schoolmates  were  there.  It  seemed  like 
a  bygone  existence,  though  only  two  months  ago. 
He  had  written  his  mother  to  tell  of  his  arrival,  and 
once  since  to  say  that  he  was  well.  He  had  received 
a  kind  letter  from  his  mother,  with  a  scripture  text 
or  two,  and  a  postscript  from  his  father  with  some 
sound  advice  and  more  scripture  texts.  Since 
then  he  had  not  written.  He  could  not  comprehend 
how  he  could  so  completely  drift  away,  and  yet 
clearly  it  was  because  he  had  found  here  in  Sanger 
the  well  for  which  he  had  thirsted. 

As  he  lay  there  thinking,  a  slight  movement  nearer 
the  creek  caught  his  eye.  A  large  Bass  wood  had 
been  blown  down.  Like  most  of  its  kind,  it  was  hollow. 
Its  trunk  was  buried  in  the  tangle  of  rank  summer 
growth,  but  a  branch  had  been  broken  off  and  left 
a  hole  in  the  main  stem.  In  the  black  cavern  of  the 
hole  there  appeared  a  head  with  shining  green  eyes, 
then  out  there  glided  onto  the  log  a  common  gray 
Cat.  She  sat  there  in  the  sunshine,  licked  her  paws, 
dressed  her  fur  generally,  stretched  her  claws  and 
legs  after  the  manner  of  her  kind,  walked  to  the  end 
of  the  log,  then  down  the  easy  slope  to  the  bottom 
of  the  canon.  Here  she  took  a  drink,  daintily  shook 
the  water  from  her  paws,  and  set  the  hair  just  right 
with  a  stroke.  Then  to  Yan's  amusement  she  exam 
ined  all  the  tracks  much  as  he  had  done,  though  it 
seemed  clear  that  her  nose,  not  her  eyes,  was  judge. 
She  walked  down  stream,  leaving  some  very  fine 

329 


Two  Little  Savages 

impressions  that  Yan  mentally  resolved  to  have 
in  his  note-book  very  soon,  suddenly  stopped, 
looked  upward  and  around,  a  living  picture  of 
elegance,  sleekness  and  grace,  with  eyes  of  green 
fire,  then  deliberately  leaped  from  the  creek  bed  to 
the  tangle  of  the  bank  and  disappeared. 

This  seemed  a  very  commonplace  happening,  but 
the  fact  of  a  house  Cat  taking  to  the  woods  lent  her 
unustlal  interest,  and  Yan  felt  much  of  the  thrill 
that  a  truly  wild  animal  would  have  given  him,  and 
had  gone  far  enough  in  art  to  find  exquisite  pleasure 
in  the  series  of  pictures  the  Cat  had  presented  to 
his  eyes. 

He  lay  there  for  some  minutes  expecting  her  to 
reappear;  then  far  up  the  creek  he  heard  slight 
rattling  of  the  gravel.  He  turned  and  saw,  not  the 
Cat,  but  a  very  different  and  somewhat  larger  animal. 
Low,  thick-set,  jet  black,  with  white  marks  and 
an  immense  bushy  tail — Yan  recognized  the  Skunk 
at  once,  although  he  had  never  before  met  a  wild 
one  in  daylight.  It  came  at  a  deliberate  waddle, 
nosing  this  way  and  that.  It  rounded  the  bend  and 
was  nearly  opposite  Yan,  when  three  little  Skunks 
of  this  year's  brood  came  toddling  after  the  mother. 

The  old  one  examined  the  tracks  much  as  the  Cat 
had  done,  and  Yan  got  a  singular  sense  of  brother 
hood  in  seeing  the  wild  things  at  his  own  study. 

Then  the  old  Skunk  came  to  the  fresh  tracks  of 
the  Cat  and  paused  so  long  to  smell  them  that  the 
three  young  ones  came  up  and  joined  in.  One  of 

330 


The  Cat  and  the  Skunk 


the  young  ones  went  to  the  bank  where  the  Cat 
came  down.  As  it  blew  its  little  nose  over  the  fresh 
scent,  the  old  Skunk  waddled  to  the  place,  became 
quite  interested,  then  climbed  the  bank.  The  little 
ones  followed  in  a  disjointed  procession,  varied  by 
one  of  them  tumbling  backward  from  the  steep  trail. 

The  old  Skunk  reached  the  top  of  the  bank,  then 
mounted  the  log  and  followed  unerringly  the  Cat's 
back  trail  to  the  hole  in  the  trunk.  Down  this  she 
peered  a  minute,  then,  sniffing,  walked  in,  till  nothing 
could  be  seen  but  her  tail.  Now  Yan  heard  loud, 
shrill  mewing  from  the  log,  "Mew,  mew,  m-e-u-w, 
m-e-e-u-w,"  and  the  old  Skunk  came  backing  out, 
holding  a  small  gray  Kitten. 

The  little  thing  mewed  and  spit  energetically, 
holding  on  to  the  inside  of  the  log.  But  the  old 
Skunk  was  too  strong — she  dragged  it  out.  Then 
holding  it  down  with  both  paws,  she  got  a  good  firm 
grip  of  its  neck  and  turned  to  carry  it  down  to  the 
bed  of  the  brook.  The  Kitten  struggled  vigorously, 
and  at  last  got  its  claws  into  the  Skunk's  eye  and  gave 
such  a  wrench  that  the  ill-smelling  villain  loosened 
its  hold  a  little  and  so  gave  the  Kitten  another  chance 
to  squeal,  which  it  did  with  a  will,  putting  all  its 
strength  into  a  succession  of  heartrending  mee-ow — 
mee-ows.  Yan's  heart  was  touched.  He  was  about 
to  dash  to  the  rescue  when  there  was  a  scrambling 
in  the  far  grass,  a  rush  of  gray,  and  the  Cat — the 
old  mother  Cat  was  on  the  scene,  a  picture  of  demon 
rage,  eyes  ablaze,  fur  erect,  ears  back.  With  the 


Two  Little  Savages 

spring  of  a  Deer  and  the  courage  of  a  Lion  she  made 
for  the  black  murderer.  Eye  could  not  follow  the 
flashings  of  her  -paws.  The  Skunk  recoiled  and 
stared  stupidly,  but  not  long;  nothing  was  ''long" 
about  it.  Her  every  superb  muscle  was  tingling  with 
force  and  mad  with  hate  as  the  mother  Cat  closed 
like  a  swooping  Falcon.  The  Skunk  had  no  time 
to  aim  that  dreadful  gun,  and  in  the  excitement 
fired  a  volley  of  the  deadly  musky  spray  backward, 
drenching  her  own  young  as  they  huddled  in  the 
trail. 

Tooth  and  claw  and  deadly  grip — the  old  Cat 
raged  and  tore,  the  black  fur  flew  in  every  direction, 
and  the  Skunk  for  once  lost  her  head  and  fired 
random  shots  of  choking  spray  that  drenched  herself 
as  well  as  the  Cat.  The  Skunk's  head  and  neck 
were  terribly  torn.  The  air  was  suffocating  with 
the  poisonous  musk.  The  Skunk  was  desperately 
wounded  and  threw  herself  backward  into  the  water. 
Blinded  and  choking,  though  scarcely  bleeding,  the 
old  Cat  would  have  followed  even  there,  but  the 
Kitten,  wedged  under  the  log,  mewed  piteously  and 
stayed  the  mother's  fury.  She  dragged  it  out  un- 
unharmed  but  drenched  with  musk  and  carried  it 
quickly  to  the  den  in  the  hollow  log,  then  came  out 
again  and  stood  erect,  blinking  her  blazing  eyes — for 
they  were  burning  with  the  spray — lashing  her  tail, 
the  image  of  a  Tigress  eager  to  fight  either  part  or 
all  the  world  for  the  little  ones  she  nursed.  But  the 
old  Skunk  had  had  more  than  enough.  She  scram- 

332 


The  old  Cat  raged  and  tore 


The  Cat  and  the  Skunk 

bled  off  down  the  canon.  Her  three  young  ones  had 
tumbled  over  each  other  to  get  out  of  the  way  when 
they  got  that  first  accidental  charge  of  their  mother's 
battery.  She  waddled  away,  leaving  a  trail  of  blood 
and  smell,  and  they  waddled  after,  leaving  an  odour 
just  as  strong. 

Yan  was  thrilled  by  the  desperate  fight  of  the 
heroic  old  Cat.  Her  whole  race  went  up  higher  in 
his  esteem  that  day;  and  the  fact  that  the  house 
Cat  really  could  take  to  the  woods  and  there  maintain 
herself  by  hunting  was  all  that  was  needed  to  give 
her  a  place  in  his  list  of  animal  heroes. 

Pussy  walked  uneasily  up  and  down  the  log,  from 
the  hole  where  the  Kittens  were  to  the  end  over 
looking  the  canon.  She  blinked  very  hard  and  was 
evidently  suffering  severely,  but  Yan  knew  quite 
well  that  there  was  no  animal  on  earth  big  enough 
or  strong  enough  to  frighten  that  Cat  from  her  post 
at  the  door  of  her  home.  There  is  no  courage  more 
indomitable  than  that  of  a  mother  Cat  who  is  guarding 
her  young. 

At  length  all  danger  of  attack  seemed  over,  and 
Pussy,  shaking  her  paws  and  wiping  her  eyes,  glided 
into  her  hole.  Oh,  what  a  shock  it  must  have  been 
to  the  poor  Kittens,  though  partly  prepared  by 
their  brother's  unsavoury  coming  back.  There  was 
the  mother,  whose  return  had  always  been  heralded 
by  a  delicious  odour  of  fresh  Mouse  or  bird,  interwoven 
with  a  loving  and  friendly  odour  of  Cat,  that  was 
in  itself  a  promise  of  happiness.  Scent  is  the  main 

335 


Two  Little  Savages 

thing  in  Cat  life,  and  now  the  hole  was  darkened  by 
a  creature  that  was  rank  with  every  nasal  guarantee 
of  deadly  enmity.-  Little  wonder  that  they  all  fled 
puffing  and  spitting  to  the  dark  corners.  It  was  a 
hard  case;  all  the  little  stomachs  were  upset  for  a 
long  time.  They  could  do  nothing  but  make 
the  best  of  it  and  get  used  to  it.  The  den  never 
ceased  to  stink  while  they  were  there,  and  even 
after  they  grew  up  and  lived  elsewhere  many  storms 
passed  overhead  before  the  last  of  the  Skunk  smell 
left  them. 


336 


The  Adventures  of  a  Squirrel  Family 


I'LL  bet  I  kin  make  a  Woodpecker  come  out  of 
that  hole,"  said  Sap  wood,  one  day  as  the  three 
Red-men  proceeded,  bow  in  hand,  through  a  far 
corner  of  Burns's  Bush.  He  pointed  to  a  hole  in 
the  top  of  a  tall  dead  stub,  then  going  near  he  struck 
the  stub  a  couple  of  heavy  blows  with  a  pole.  To 
the  surprise  of  all  there  flew  out,  not  a  Woodpecker, 
but  a  Flying  Squirrel.  It  scrambled  to  the  top  of 
the  stub,  looked  this  way  and  that,  then  spread  its 
legs,  wings  and  tail  and  sailed  downward,  to  rise 
slightly  at  the  end  of  its  flight  against  a  tree  some 
twenty  feet  away.  Yan  bounded  to  catch  it.  His 
ringers  clutched  on  its  furry  back,  but  he  got  such 
a  cut  from  its  sharp  teeth  that  he  was  glad  to  let  it 
go.  It  scrambled  up  the  far  side  of  the  trunk  and 
soon  was  lost  in  the  branches. 

Guy  was  quite  satisfied  that  he  had  carried  out 
his  promise  of  bringing  a  Woodpecker  out  of  the 
hole,  "For  ain't  a  Flying  Squirrel  a  kind  of  Wood 
pecker?"  he  argued.  He  was,  in  consequence,  very 
"cocky"  the  rest  of  the  day,  proposing  to  produce 
a  Squirrel  whenever  they  came  to  a  stub  with  a  hole 
in  it,  and  at  length,  after  many  failures,  had  the 


337 


Two  Little  Savages 


satisfaction  of  driving  a  belated  Woodpecker  out 
of  its  nest. 

The  plan  was  evidently  a  good  one  for  discovering 
living  creatures.  Yan  promptly  adopted  it,  and 
picking  up  a  big  "stick  as  they  drew  near  another 
stub  with  holes,  he  gave  three  or  four  heavy  thumps. 
A  Red  Squirrel  scrambled  out  of  a  lower  hole  and 
hid  in  an  upper  one;  another  sharp  blow  made  it 
pop  out  and  jump  to  the  top  of  the  stub,  but  eventu 
ally  back  into  the  lower  hole. 

The  boys  became- much  excited.  They  hammered 
the  stub  now  without  making  the  Squirrel  reappear. 

"Let's  cut  it  down,"  said  Little  Beaver. 

"Show  you  a  better  trick  than  that,"  replied  the 
Woodpecker.  He  looked  about  and  got  a  pole 
some  twenty  feet  long.  This  he  placed  against  a 
rough  place  high  up  on  the  stub  and  gave  it  a  violent 
push,  watching  carefully  the  head  of  the  stub.  Yes  ! 
It  swayed  just  a  little.  Sam  repeated  the  push, 
careful  to  keep  time  with  the  stub  and  push  always 
just  as  it  began  to  swing  away  from  him.  The 
other  boys  took  hold  of  the  pole  and  all  pushed 
together,  as  Sam  called,  "Now — now — now " 

A  single  push  of  300  or  400  pounds  would  scarcely 
have  moved  the  stub,  but  these  little  fifty-pound 
pushes  at  just  the  right  time  made  it  give  more  and 
more,  and  after  three  or  four  minutes  the  roots, 
that  had  begun  to  crack,  gave  way  with  a  craunching 
sound,  and  down  crashed  the  great  stub.  Its  hollow 
top  struck  across  a  fallen  log  and  burst  open  in  a 

338 


The  Adventures  of  a  Squirrel  Family 

shower  of  dust,  splinters  and  rotten  wood.  The 
boys  rushed  to  the  spot  to  catch  the  Squirrel,  if 
possible.  It  did  not  scramble  out  as  they  expected 
it  would,  even  when  they  turned  over  the  fragments. 
They  found  the  front  of  the  stub  with  the  old  Wood 
pecker  hole  in  it,  and  under  that  was  a  mass  of  finely 
shredded  cedar  bark,  evidently  a  nest.  Yan  eagerly 
turned  it  over,  and  there  lay  the  Red  Squirrel,  quite 
still  and  unharmed  apparently,  but  at  the  end  of  her 
nose  was  a  single  drop  of  blood.  Close  beside  her 
were  five  little  Squirrels,  evidently  a  very  late  brood, 
for  they  were  naked,  blind  and  helpless.  One  of 
them  had  at  its  nose  a  drop  of  blood  and  it  lay  as 
still  as  the  mother.  At  first  the  hunters  thought  the 
old  one  was  playing  'Possum,  but  the  stiffness  of 
death  soon  set  in. 

Now  the  boys  felt  very  guilty  and  sorry.  By 
thoughtlessly  giving  way  to  their  hunting  instincts 
they  had  killed  a  harmless  mother  Squirrel  in  the 
act  of  protecting  her  young,  and  the  surviving  little 
ones  had  no  prospect  but  starvation. 

Yan  had  been  the  most  active  in  the  chase,  and 
now  was  far  more  conscience-stricken  than  either  of 
the  others. 

"What  are  we  going  to  do  with  them?"  asked  the 
Woodpecker.  "They  are  too  young  to  be  raised 
for  pets." 

"Better  drown  them  and  be  done  with  them," 
suggested  Sappy,  recalling  the  last  honours  of  several 
broods  of  Kittens  at  home. 


339 


Two  Little  Savages 

"I  wish  we  could  find  another  Squirrel's  nest  to 
put  them  into,"  said  Little  Beaver  remorsefully, 
and  then  as  he  looked  at  the  four  squirming,  helpless 
things  in  his  hand  the  tears  of  repentance  filled  his 
eyes.  "We  might  as  well  kill  them  and  end  their 
misery.  We  can't  find  another  Squirrel's  nest  so 
late  as  this."  But  after  a  little  silence  he  added: 
"I  know  some  one  who  will  put  them  out  of  pain. 
She  may  as  well  have  them.  She'd  get  them  anyway, 
and  that's  the  old  gray  wild  Cat.  Let's  put  them 
in  her  nest  when  she's  away." 

This  seemed  a  reasonable,  simple  and  merciful 
way  of  getting  rid  of  the  orphans.  So  the  boys 
made  for  the  "canon"  part  of  the  brook.  At  one 
time  of  the  afternoon  the  sun  shone  so  as  to  show 
plainly  all  that  was  in  the  hole.  The  boys  went  very 
quietly  to  Yan's  lookout  bank,  and  seeing  that  only 
the  Kittens  were  there,  Yan  crept  across  and  dropped 
the  young  Squirrels  into  the  nest,  then  went  back 
to  his  friends  to  watch,  like  Miriam,  the  fate  of  the 
foundlings. 

They  had  a  full  hour  to  wait  for  the  old  Cat,  and 
as  they  were  very  still  all  that  time  they  were  rewarded 
with  a  sight  of  many  pretty  wild  things. 

A  Humming-bird  "boomed"  into  view  and  hung 
in  a  misty  globe  of  wings  before  one  Jewel-flower 
after  another. 

"Say,  Beaver,  you  said  Humming-birds  was 
something  or  other  awful  beautiful,"  said  Wood 
pecker,  pointing  to  the  dull  grayish-green  bird 
before  them. 

340 


The  Adventures  of  a  Squirrel  Family 

"And  I  say  so  yet.  Look  at  that,"  as,  with  a 
turn  in  the  air,  the  hanging  Hummer  changed  its 
jet-black  throat  to  flame  and  scarlet  that  silenced 
the  critic. 

After  the  Humming-bird  went  away  a  Field-mouse 
was  seen  for  a  moment  dodging  about  in  the  grass, 
and  shortly  afterward  a  Shrew-mole,  not  so  big  as 
the  Mouse,  was  seen  in  hot  pursuit  on  its  trail. 

Later  a  short -legged  brown  animal,  as  big  as  a 
Rabbit,  came  nosing  up  the  dry  but  shady  bed  of  the 
brook,  and  as  it  went  beneath  them  Yan  recognized 
by  its  little  Beaver-like  head  and  scaly  oar-shaped 
tail  that  it  was  a  Muskrat,  apparently  seeking  for 
water. 

There  was  plenty  in  the  swimming-pond  yet,  and 
the  boys  realized  that  this  had  become  a  gathering 
place  for  those  wild  things  that  were  "drowned  out 
by  the  drought,"  as  Sam  put  it. 

The  Muskrat  had  not  gone  more  than  twenty 
minutes  before  another  deep-brown  animal  appeared. 
"Another  Muskrat;  must  be  a  meeting,"  whispered 
the  Woodpecker.  But  this  one,  coming  close,  proved 
a  very  different  creature.  As  long  as  a  Cat,  but 
lower,  with  broad,  flat  head  and  white  chin  and 
throat,  short  legs,  in  shape  a  huge  Weasel,  there 
was  no  mistaking  it;  this  was  a  Mink,  the  deadly 
enemy  of  the  Muskrat,  and  now  on  the  track  of  its 
prey.  It  rapidly  turned  the  corner,  nosing  the  trail 
like  a  Hound.  If  it  overtook  the  Muskrat  before  it 
got  to  the  pond  there  would  be  a  tragedy.  If  the 

.341 


Two  Little  Savages 

Muskrat  reached  the  deep  water  it  might  possibly 
escape.  But  just  as  sure  as  the  pond  became  a 
gathering  place  for  Muskrats  it  would  also  become 
a  gathering  place  for  Mink. 

Not  five  minutes  had  gone  since  the  Mink  went  by 
before  a  silent  gray  form  flashed  upon  the  log  opposite. 
Oh,  how  sleek  and  elegant  it  looked  !  What  perfec 
tion  of  grace  she  seemed  after  the  waddling,  hunchy 
Muskrat  and  the  quick  but  lumbering  Mink.  There 
is  nothing  more  supple  and  elegant  than  a  fine  Cat, 
and  men  of  science  the  world  over  have  taken  the  Cat 
as  the  standard  of  perfection  in  animal  make-up. 
Pussy  glanced  about  for  danger.  She  had  brought 
no  bird  or  Mouse,  for  the  Kittens  were  yet  too  young 
for  such  training.  The  boys  watched  her  with 
intensest  interest.  She  glided  along  the  log  to  the 
hole — the  Skunk-smelling  hole — uttered  her  low 
"  purr  aw,  purrow,"  that  always  sets  the  hungry 
Kittens  agog,  and  was  curling  in  around  them,  when 
she  discovered  the  pink  Squirrel-babies  among  her 
own.  She  stopped  licking  the  nearest  Kitten, 
stared  at  a  young  Squirrel,  and  smelled  it.  Yan 
wondered  what  help  that  could  be  when  everything 
smelled  of  Skunk.  But  it  did  seem  to  decide  her,  for 
she  licked  it  a  moment,  then  lying  down  she  gathered 
them  all  in  her  four-legged  embrace,  turned  her  chin 
up  in  the  air  and  Sappy  announced  gleefully  that 
"  The  little  Squirrels  were  feeding  with  the  little 
Cats." 

The  boys  waited  a  while  longer,  then  having  made 

342 


The  Adventures  of  a  Squirrel  Family 

sure  that  the  little  Squirrels  had  been  lovingly 
adopted  by  their  natural  enemy,  they  went  quietly 
back  to  camp.  Now  they  found  a  daily  pleasure 
in  watching  the  mixed  family. 

And  here  it  may  be  as  well  to  give  the  rest  of 
the  story.  The  old  gray  Cat  faithfully  and  lovingly 
nursed  those  foundlings.  They  seemed  to  prosper, 
and  Yan,  recalling  that  he  had  heard  of  a  Cat  actually 
raising  a  brood  of  Rabbits,  looked  forward  to  the 
day  when  Kittens  and  Squirrelets  should  romp 
together  in  the  sun.  After  a  week  Sappy  maintained 
that  only  one  Squirrel  appeared  at  the  breakfast 
table,  and  in  ten  days  none.  Yan  stole  over  to  the 
log  and  learned  the  truth.  All  four  were  dead  in  the 
bottom  of  the  nest.  There  was  nothing  to  tell  why. 
The  old  Cat  had  done  her  best — had  been  all  love 
and  tenderness,  but  evidently  had  not  been  able 
to  carry  out  her  motherly  intentions. 


343 


XI 


How  to  See  the  Woodfolk 


THE  days  went  merrily  now,  beginning  each  morn 
ing  with  a  hunting  of  the  Woodchuck.  The  boys 
were  on  terms  of  friendship  with  the  woods 
that  contrasted  strongly  with  the  feelings  of  that 
first  night. 

This  was  the  thought  in  Sam's  mind  when  he  one 
day  remarked,  "Say,  Yan,  do  you  remember  the 
night  I  slep'  with  the  axe  an'  you  with  the  hatchet?" 

The  Indians  had  learned  to  meet  and  conquer 
all  the  petty  annoyances  of  camp  life,  and  so  forgot 
them.  Their  daily  routine  was  simplified.  Their 
acquaintance  with  woodfolk  and  wood-ways  had 
grown  so  fast  that  now  they  were  truly  at  home. 
The  ringing  "Kow—Kow — Kow"  in  the  tree-tops  was 
no  longer  a  mere  wandering  voice,  but  the  summer 
song  of  the  Black-billed  Cuckoo.  The  loud,  rattling, 
birdy  whistle  in  the  low  trees  during  dull  weather 
Yan  had  traced  to  the  Tree-frog. 

The  long-drawn  "Pee — re-e-e-e"  of  hot  afternoons 
was  the  call  of  the  Wood-peewee,  and  a  vast  number 
of  mysterious  squeaks  and  warbles  had  been  traced 
home  to  the  ever-bright  and  mischievous  Blue  Jay. 

The  nesting  season  was  now  over,  as  well  as  the 


344 


How  to  See  the  Woodfolk 

song  season;  the  birds,  therefore,  were  less  to  be  seen, 
but  the  drying  of  the  streams  had  concentrated 
much  life  in  the  swimming-pond.  The  fence  had 
been  arranged  so  that  the  cattle  could  reach  one  end 
of  it  to  drink,  but  the  lower  parts  were  safe  from 
their  clumsy  feet,  and  wild  life  of  many  kinds  were 
there  in  abundance. 

The  Muskrats  were  to  be  seen  every  evening  in 
the  calm  pool,  and  fish  in  great  numbers  were  in  the 
deeper  parts.  Though  they  were  small,  the  boys 
found  them  so  numerous  and  so  ready  to  bite  that 
fishing  was  great  sport,  and  more  than  one  good 
meal  they  had  from  that  pond.  There  were  things 
of  interest  discovered  daily.  In  a  neighbour's  field 
Sam  had  found  another  Woodchuck  with  a  "price 
on  his  head."  Rabbits  began  to  come  about  the 
camp  at  night,  especially  when  the  moon  was 
bright,  and  frequently  of  late  they  had  heard  a 
querulous,  yelping  bark  that  Caleb  said  was  made 
by  a  Fox,  "probably  that  old  rascal  that  lives  in 
Callahan's  woods." 

The  gray  Cat  in  the  log  was  always  interesting. 
The  boys  went  very  regularly  to  watch  from  a  dis 
tance,  but  for  good  reasons  did  not  go  near.  First, 
they  did  not  wish  to  scare  her;  second,  they  knew 
that  if  they  went  too  close  she  would  not  hesitate  to 
attack  them. 

One  of  the  important  lessons  that  Yan  learned 
was  this:  In  the  woods  the  silent  watcher  sees  the 
most.  The  great  difficulty  in  watching  was  how  to 

345 


Two  Little  Savages 


pass  the  time,  and  the  solution  was  to  sit  and  sketch. 
Reading  would  have  done  had  books  been  at  hand, 
but  not  so  well  as  sketching,  because  then  the  eyes 
are  fixed  on  the  b'ook  instead  of  the  woods,  and  the 
turning  of  the  white  pages  is  apt  to  alarm  the  shy 
woodfolk. 

Thus  Yan  put  in  many  hours  making  drawings  of 
things  about  the  edge  of  the  pond. 

As  he  sat  one  day  in  stillness  a  Minnow  leaped  from 
the  water  and  caught  a  Fly.  Almost  immediately  a 
Kingfisher  that  had  been  shooting  past  stopped  in 
air,  hovered,  and  darting  downward,  came  up  with  a 
Minnow  in  his  beak,  flew  to  a  branch  to  swallow  its 
prey,  but  no  sooner  got  there  when  a  Chicken-hawk 
flashed  out  of  a  thick  tree,  struck  the  Kingfisher 
with  both  feet  and  bore  him  downward  to  the  bank — 
in  a  moment  would  have  killed  him,  but  a  long, 
brown  creature  rushed  from  a  hole  in  the  bank  and 
sprang  on  the  struggling  pair,  to  change  the  scene  in 
a  twinkling.  The  three  strugglers  separated,  the 
Hawk  to  the  left,  the  Kingfisher  to  the  right,  the 
Minnow  flopped  back  into  the  pool,  and  the  Mink 
was  left  on  the  shore  with  a  mouthful  of  feathers 
and  looking  very  foolish.  As  it  stood  shaking  the 
down  from  its  nose  another  animal  came  gliding 
down  through  the  shrubbery  to  the  shore — the  old 
gray  Cat.  The  Mink  wrinkled  up  his  nose,  showed 
two  rows  of  sharp  teeth  and  snarled  in  a  furious 
manner,  but  backed  off  under  a  lot  of  roots.  The 
Cat  laid  down  her  ears;  the  fur  on  her  back  and  tail 


346 


How  to  Sec  the  Woodfolfc 

siood  up;  she  crouched  a  little,  her  eyes  blazing 
and  the  end  of  her  tail  twitching,  and  she  answered 
the  snarling  of  the  Mink  with  a  low  growl.  The 
Mink  was  evidently  threatening  "sudden  death"  to 
the  Cat,  and  Pussy  evidently  was  not  much  impressed. 
The  Mink  retreated  farther  under  the  roots  till 
nothing  but  the  green  glowing  of  his  eyes  was  to  be 
seen,  and  the  Cat,  coming  forward,  walked  calmly 
by  his  hiding-place  and  went  about  her  business. 
The  snarling  under  the  root  died  away,  and  as  soon 
as  his  enemy  was  gone  the  Mink  dived  into  the 
water  and  was  lost  to  view. 

These  two  animals  had  a  second  meeting,  as  Yan 
had  the  luck  to  witness  from  his  watching-place. 
He  had  heard  the  "plop"  of  a  deft  plunge,  and  looked 
in  time  only  to  see  the  spreading  rings  near  the  shore. 
Then  the  water  was  ruffled  far  up  in  the  pond.  A 
brown  spot  showed  and  was  gone.  A  second  ap 
peared,  to  vanish  as  the  first  had  done.  Later,  a 
Muskrat  crawled  out  on  the  shore,  waddled  along 
for  twenty  feet,  then,  plunging  in,  swam  below,  came 
up  at  the  other  bank,  and  crawled  under  a  lot  of 
overhanging  roots.  A  minute  later  the  Mink  ap 
peared,  his  hair  all  plastered  close  till  he  looked  like 
a  four-legged  Snake.  He  landed  where  the  Muskrat 
had  come  out,  followed  the  trail  so  that  it  was  lost,  then 
galloped  up  and  down  the  shore,  plunged  in,  swam 
across,  and  beat  about  the  other  shore.  At  last  he 
struck  the  trail  and  followed.  Under  the  root 
there  were  sounds  of  a  struggle,  the  snarling  of  the 

347 


Two  Little  Savages 

Mink,  and  in  two  or  three  minutes  he  appeared 
dragging  out  the  body  of  the  Muskrat.  He  sucked 
its  blood  and  was  eating  the  brains  when  again  the 
gray  Cat  came  prowling  up  the  edge  of  the  pond  and, 
not  ten  feet  off,  stood  face  to  face  with  the  Mink, 
as  she  had  done  before. 

The  Water  Weasel  saw  his  enemy  but  made  no 
attempt  to  escape  from  her.  He  stood  with  forepaws 
on  his  victim  and  snarling  a  warning  and  defiance  to 
the  Cat.  Pussy,  after  glaring  for  a  few  seconds, 
leaped  lightly  to  the  high  bank,  passed  above  the 
Mink,  then  farther  on  leaped  down,  and  resumed  her 
journey  up  the  shore. 

Why  should  the  Mink  fear  the  Cat  the  first  time, 
and  the  Cat  the  Mink  the  second?  Yan  believed 
that  ordinarily  the  Cat  could  "lick,"  but  that  now 
the  Mink  had  right  on  his  side ;  he  was  defending  his 
property,  and  the  Cat,  knowing  that,  avoided  a 
quarrel;  whereas  the  same  Cat  would  have  faced 
a  thousand  Mink  in  defense  of  her  Kittens. 

These  two  scenes  did  not  happen  the  same  day, 
but  are  told  together  because  Yan  always  told  them 
together  afterward  to  show  that  the  animals  under 
stand  something  of  right  and  wrong. 

But  later  Yan  had  another  experience  with  the 
Muskrats.  He  and  Sam  were  smoothing  out  the 
lower  album  for  the  night,  when  a  long  stream  of 
water  came  briskly  down  the  middle  of  the  creek 
bed,  which  had  been  dry  for  more  than  a  week. 

" Hallo,"  said  Woodpecker,  "where's  that  from?" 

348 


How  to  See  the  Woodfolk 

"A  leak  in  the  dam,"  said  Little  Beaver,  with  fear 
in  his  voice. 

The  boys  ran  up  to  the  dam  and  learned  that  the 
guess  was  right.  The  water  had  found  an  escape 
round  the  end  of  the  dam,  and  a  close  examination 
showed  that  it  had  been  made  by  a  burrowing 
Muskrat. 

It  was  no  little  job  to  get  it  tightly  closed  up. 
But  the  spade  was  handy,  and  a  close-driven  row 
of  stakes  with  plenty  of  stiff  clay  packed  behind  not 
only  stopped  the  leak  but  gave  a  guarantee  that  in 
future  that  corner  at  least  would  be  safe. 

When  Caleb  heard  of  the  Muskrat  mischief  he 
said: 

"No wye  know  why  the  Beavers  are  always  so  dead 
sore  on  the  Muskrats.  They  know  the  Rats  are 
liable  to  spoil  their  dams  any  time,  so  they  kill  them 
whenever  they  get  the  chance." 

Little  Beaver  rarely  watched  an  hour  without 
seeing  something  of  interest  in  the  swamp.  The 
other  warriors  had  not  the  patience  to  wait  so 
long  and  they  were  not  able  to  make  a  pastime  of 
sketching. 

Yan  made  several  hiding-places  where  he  found 
that  living  things  were  most  likely  to  be  seen.  Just 
below  the  dam  was  a  little  pool  where  various  Craw 
fish  and  thread-like  Eels  abounding  proved  very 
attractive  to  Kingfisher  and  Crow,  while  little  Tip- 
ups  or  Teetering  Snipe  would  wiggle  their  latter  end 
on  the  level  dam,  or  late  in  the  day  the  never-failing 

349 


Two  Little  Savages 


Muskrat  wc'dd  crawl  out  on  a  flat  stone  and  sit 
like  a  fur  cap.  The  canon  part  of  the  creek  was 
another  successful  hiding-place,  but  the  very  best 
was  at  the  upper  end  of  the  pond,  for  the  simple 
reason  that  it  gave  a  view  of  more  different  kinds 
of  land.  First  the  water  with  Muskrats  and  occa 
sionally  a  Mink,  next  the  little  marsh,  always  there, 
but  greatly  increased  now  by  the  back-up  of  the 
water.  Here  one  or  two  Field-mice  and  a  pair  of 
Sora  Rails  were  at  home.  Close  at  hand  was  the 
thick  woods,  where  Partridges  and  Black  Squirrels 
were  sometimes  seen. 

Yan  was  here  one  day  sketching  the  trunk  of  a 
Hemlock  to  pass  the  watching  time,  but  also  because 
he  had  learned  to  love  that  old  tree.  He  never 
sketched  because  he  loved  sketching;  he  did  not; 
the  motive  always  was  love  of  the  thing  he  was 
drawing. 

A  Black-and-white  Creeper  had  crawled  like  a 
Lizard  over  all  the  trunks  in  sight.  A  Downy 
Woodpecker  had  digged  a  worm  out  of  a  log  by 
labour  that  most  birds  would  have  thought  ill-paid 
by  a  dozen  such  worms.  A  Chipmunk  had  come 
nearer  and  nearer  till  it  had  actually  run  over  his 
foot  and  then  scurried  away  chattering  in  dismay 
at  its  own  rashness;  finally,  a  preposterous  little 
Cock  Chickadee  sang  "Spring  soon — spring  soon,"  as 
though  any  one  were  interested  in  the  gratuitous  and 
unconvincing  fib,  when  a  brown,  furry  form  hopped 
noiselessly  from  the  green  leaves  by  the  pond, 


350 


How  to  See  the  Woodfolk 

skipped  over  a  narrow  bay  without  wetting  its  feet, 
paused  once  or  twice,  then  in  the  middle  of  the  open 
glade  it  sat  up  in  plain  view — a  Rabbit.  It  sat  so 
long  and  so  still  that  Yan  first  made  a  sketch  that 
took  three  or  four  minutes,  then  got  out  his  watch 
and  timed  it  for  three  minutes  longer  before  it 
moved  in  the  least.  Then  it  fed  for  some  time, 
and  Yan  tried  to  make  a  list  of  the  things  it  ate 
and  the  things  it  shunned,  but  could  not  do  so 
with  certainty. 

A  noisy  Flicker  came  out  and  alighted  close  by  on 
a  dried  branch.  The  Rabbit,  or  really  a  Northern 
Hare,  "  froze  " — that  is,  became  perfectly  still  for  a 
moment — but  the  Flicker  marks  were  easy  to  read 
and  had  long  ago  been  learned  as  the  uniform  of  a 
friend,  so  the  Rabbit  resumed  his  meal,  and  when 
the  Flicker  flew  again  he  paid  no  heed.  A  Crow 
passed  over,  and  yet  another.  "No;  no  danger 
from  them."  A  Red-shouldered  Hawk  wailed  in 
the  woods;  the  Rabbit  heard  that  and  every  other 
sound,  but  the  Red-shoulder  is  not  dangerous 
and  he  knew  it.  A  large  Hawk  with  red  tail 
circled  silently  over  the  glade,  and  the  Rabbit 
frozs  on  the  instant.  That  same  red  tail  was  the 
mark  of  a  dreaded  foe.  How  well  Bunny  had 
learned  to  know  them  all ! 

A  bunch  of  clover  tempted  him  to  a  full  repast, 
after  which  he  hopped  into  a  tussock  in  the  midst 
of  the  glade  and  there  turned  himself  into  a  moss- 
bump,  his  legs  swallowed  up  in  his  fur,  and  his  ears 


Two  Little  Savages 

laid  over  his  back  like  a  pair  of  empty  gloves  or 
a  couple  of  rounded  shingles;  his  nose-wabblings 
reduced  in  number,  and  he  seemed  to  be  sleeping  in 
the  last  warm  rays  of  the  sun.  Yan  was  very 
anxious  to  see  whether  his  eyes  were  open  or  not; 
he  had  been  told  that  Rabbits  sleep  with  open  eyes, 
but  at  this  distance  he  could  not  be  sure.  He  had 
no  field-glass  and  Guy  was  not  at  hand,  so  the  point 
remained  in  doubt. 

The  last  sun-blots  had  gone  from  the  trail  and  the 
pond  was  all  shadowed  by  the  trees  on  the  western 
side.  A  Robin  began  its  evening  hymn  on  a  tall 
tree,  where  it  could  see  the  red  sun  going  down,  and 
a  Veery  was  trilling  his  weary,  weary,  weary  in  the 
Elder  thicket  along  the  brook,  when  another,  a 
larger  animal,  loomed  up  in  the  distant  trail  and 
glided  silently  toward  Yan.  Its  head  was  low, 
and  he  could  not  make  out  what  it  was.  As  it  stood 
there  for  a  few  seconds  Yan  wet  his  finger  in  his 
mouth  and  held  it  up.  A  slight  coolness  on  the 
side  next  the  coming  creature  told  Yan  that  the 
breeze  was  from  it  to  him  and  would  not  betray  him. 
It  came  on,  seeming  to  grow  larger,  turned  a  little 
to  one  side,  and  then  Yan  saw  plainly  by  the  sharp 
nose  and  ears  and  the  bushy  tail  that  it  was  nothing 
less  than  a  Fox,  probably  the  one  that  often  barked 
near  camp  at  night. 

It  was  trotting  away  at  an  angle,  knowing  nothing 
of  the  watching  boy  nor  of  the  crouching  Rabbit, 
when  Yan,  merely  to  get  a  better  look  at  the  cunning 

35* 


How  to  See  the  "Woodfolfc 

one,  put  the  back  of  his  hand  to  his  mouth  and  by 
sucking  made  a  slight  Mouse-like  squeak,  sweetest 
music,  potent  spellbinder,  to  a  hungry  Fox,  and 
he  turned  like  a  flash.  For  a  moment  he  stood, 
head  erect,  full  of  poise  and  force  in  curb;  a 
second  squeak — he  came  slowly  back  toward  the 
sound  and  in  so  doing  passed  between  Yan  and  the 
Rabbit.  He  had  crossed  its  old  trail  without  feeling 
much  interest,  but  now  the  breeze  brought  its 
body  scent.  Instantly  the  Fox  gave  up  the  Mouse 
hunt — no  hunter  goes  after  Mice  when  big  game 
is  at  hand — and  began  an  elaborate  and  beautiful 
stalk  of  the  Rabbit — the  Rabbit  that  he  had  not  seen. 
But  his  nose  was  his  best  guide.  He  cautiously  zig 
zagged  up  the  wind,  picking  his  steps  with  the  greatest 
care,  and  pointing  with  his  nose  like  a  Pointer  Dog. 
Each  step  was  bringing  him  nearer  to  Bunny 
as  it  slept  or  seemed  asleep  in  the  tussock.  Yan 
wondered  whether  he  ought  not  to  shout  out  and 
end  the  stalk  before  the  Rabbit  was  caught,  but 
as  a  naturalist  he  was  eager  to  see  the  whole  thing 
out  and  learn  how  the  Fox  would  make  the  capture. 
The  red-furred  gentleman  was  now  within  fifteen 
feet  of  the  tussock  and  still  the  gray  one  moved  not. 
Now  he  was  within  twelve  feet — and  no  move; 
ten  feet — and  Bunny  seemed  in  tranquil  sleep ; 
eight  feet — and  now  the  Fox  for  the  first  time  seemed 
to  actually  see  his  victim.  Yan  had  hard  work  to 
keep  from  shouting  a  warning;  six  feet — and  now 
the  Fox  was  plainly  preparing  for  a  final  spring. 

353 


Two  Little  Savages 

"Is  it  right  to  let  him?"  and  Van's  heart  beat 
with  excitement. 

The  Fox  brought  his  feet  well  under  him,  tried  the 
footing  till  it  was  -perfect,  gathered  all  his  force, 
then  with  silent,  vicious  energy  sprung  straight  for 
the  sleeper.  Sleeping?  Oh,  no  !  Not  at  all.  Bunny 
was  playing  his  own  game.  The  moment  the  Fox 
leaped,  he  leaped  with  equal  vigour  the  opposite 
way  and  out  under  his  enemy,  so  Reynard  landed 
on  the  empty  bunch  of  grass.  Again  he  sprang, 
but  the  Rabbit  had  rebounded  like  a  ball  in  the 
other  direction,  and  continued  this  bewildering 
succession  of  marvellous  erratic  hops.  The  Fox  in 
vain  tried  to  keep  up,  for  these  wonderful  side  jumps 
are  the  Rabbit's  strength  and  the  Fox's  weakness; 
and  Bunny  went  zigzag — hop — skip — into  the  thicket, 
and  was  gone  before  the  Fox  could  get  his  heavier 
body  under  speed  at  all. 

Had  the  Rabbit  bounded  out  as  soon  as  he  saw 
the  Fox  coming  he  might  have  betrayed  himself 
unnecessarily;  had  he  gone  straight  away  when  the 
Fox  leaped  for  him  he  might  have  been  caught 
in  three  or  four  leaps,  for  the  enemy  was  under  full 
speed,  but  by  biding  his  time  he  had  courted  no 
danger,  and  when  it  did  come  he  had  played  the 
only  possible  offset,  and  "lives  in  the  greenwood 
still." 

The  Fox  had  to  seek  his  supper  somewhere  else, 
and  Yan  went  to  camp  happy  in  having  learned 
another  of  the  secrets  of  the  woods. 


354 


XII 
Indian  Signs  and  Getting  Lost 

WHAT  do  you  mean  when  YOU  say  Indian  signs, 
Mr.  Clark?" 
"Pretty  near  anything  that  shows  there's 
Injuns  round:  a  moccasin  track,  a  smell  of  smoke,  a 
twig  bent,  a  village,  one  stone  a-top  of  another  or  a 
white    settlement  scalped  and  burned — they  all  are 
Injun   signs.      They    all    mean    something,  and    the 
Injuns  read  them  an'  make  them,  too,  jest  as  you 
would  writing." 

"You  remember  the  other  day  you  told  us  three 
smokes  meant  you  were  coming  back  with  scalps." 

"Well,  no;  it  don't  har'ly  mean  that.  It  means 
'Good  news' — that  is,  with  some  tribes.  Different 
tribes  uses  'em  different." 

"Well,  what  does  one  smoke  mean?" 

"As  a  rule  just  simply  'Camp  is  here.'  ' 

"And  two  smokes?" 

"Two  smokes  means  '  Trouble  ' — may  mean,  '/  am 
lost.'  ' 

"I'll  remember  that;  double  for  trouble." 

"Three  means  good  news.  There's  luck  in  odd 
numbers." 

"And  what  is  four?" 


355 


Two  Little  Savages 


"Well,  it  ain't  har'ly  ever  used.     If   I   seen   fo 
smokes   in   camp    I'd   know  something  big  was  on  — 
maybe  a  Grand  Council." 

"Well,  if  you  saw  five  smokes  what  would  you 
think?" 

"I'd  think  some  blame  fool  was  settin'  the  hull 
place  a-blaze,"  Caleb  replied  with  the  sniff  end  of  a 
laugh. 

"Just  now  you  said  one  stone  on  another  was  a 
sign.  What  does  it  mean  ?" 

"Course  I  can't  speak  for  all  Injuns.  Some  has 
it  for  one  thing  an'  some  for  another,  but  usually 
in  the  West  two  stones  or  'Buffalo  chips'  settin'  one 
on  the  other  means  '  This  is  the  trail  '  ;  and  a  little 
stone  at  the  left  of  the  two  would  mean  '  Here  we 
turned  off  to  the  left  ';  and  at  the  other  side,  '  Here 
we  turned  to  the  right.'  Three  stones  settin'  one 
on  top  of  another  means,  'This  is  sure  enough  the 
trail,'  '  Special  '  or  '  Particular  '  or  '  Look  out  ';  an'  a 
pile  of  stones  just  throwed  together  means  '  We 
camped  here  'cause  some  one  was  sick.'  They'd  be 
the  stones  used  for  giving  the  sick  one  a  steam  bath." 

"Well,  what  would  they  do  if  there  were  no  stones  ?" 

"Ye  mean  in  the  woods?" 

"Yes,  or  smooth  prairie." 

"Well,  I  pretty  near  forget,  it's  so  long  ago,  but 
le's  see  now,"  and  Yan  worried  Caleb  and  Caleb 
threshed  his  memory  till  they  got  out  a  general 
scheme,  or  Indian  code,  though  Caleb  was  careful 
to  say  that  "some  Injuns  done  it  differently." 

356 


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Indian  Signs  and  Getting  Lost 

must  needs  set  about  making  a  signal  fire 
at  once,  and  was  disappointed  to  find  that  a  hun 
dred  yards  away  the  smoke  could  not  be  seen  above 
the  tree-tops,  till  Caleb  showed  him  the  difference 
between  a  clear  fire  and  a  smoke  or  smudge  fire. 

"Begin  with  a  clear  fire  to  get  the  heat,  then 
smother  it  with  green  grass  and  rotten  wood.  There, 
now  you  see  the  difference,"  and  a  great  crooked, 
angling  pillar  of  smoke  rolled  upward  as  soon  as 
the  grass  and  punk  began  to  sizzle  in  the  glow  of 
embers. 

"I  bet  ye  kin  see  that  ten  miles  away  if  ye'r  on  a 
high  place  to  look  for  it." 

"I  bet  I  could  see  it  twenty  miles,"  chirped  in 
Guy. 

"Mr.  Clark,  were  you  ever  lost?"  continued  the 
tireless  asker. 

"Why,  course  I  was,  an'  more  than  once.  Every 
one  that  goes  in  the  woods  is  bound  to  get  lost  once 
in  awhile." 

"What — do  the  Indians?" 

"Of  course!  Why  not?  They're  human,  an'  I 
tell  you  when  you  hear  a  man  brag  that  he  never 
was  lost,  I  know  he  never  was  far  from  his  mother's 
apron  string.  Every  one  is  bound  to  get  lost,  but 
the  real  woodsman  gets  out  all  right;  that's  the 
difference." 

"Well,  what  would  you  do  if  you  got  lost?" 

"Depends  on  where.  If  it  was  a  country  that  I 
didn't  know,  and  I  had  friends  in  camp,  after  I'd 


Two  Little  Savages 


tried  my  best  I'd  jest  set  right  down  and  make  two 
smoke  fires.  'Course,  if  I  was  alone  I'd  try  to  make 
a  bee  line  in  the  likeliest  direction,  an'  this  is  easy  to 
make  if  ye  kin  see  the  sun  and  stars,  but  stormy 
weather  'tain't  possible.  No  man  kin  do  it,  an'  if 
ye  don't  know  the  country  ye  have  to  follow  some 
stream;  but  I'm.  sorry  for  ye  if  ever  ye  have  to  do 
that,  for  it's  the  worst  walking  on  earth.  It  will 
surely  bring  ye  out  some  place — that  is,  it  will 
keep  ye  from  walking  in  a  circle — but  ye  can't  make 
more  than  four  or  five  miles  a  day  on  it." 

"Can't  you  get  your  direction  from  moss  on  the 
tree  trunks?" 

"Naw!  Jest  try  it  an'  see;  moss  on  the  north 
side  of  a  tree  and  rock;  biggest  branches  on  the 
south  of  a  trunk;  top  of  a  Hemlock  pointing  to  east; 
the  biggest  rings  of  growth  on  the  south  side  of  a 
stump,  an'  so  on.  It  fits  a  tree  standin'  out  by 
itself  in  the  open — the  biggest  ring  is  in  the  south 
but  it  don't  fit  a  tree  on  the  south  side  of  an  opening 
then  the  biggest  rings  is  on  the  north.  If  ye  have 
a  compass  in  hand  it's  all  kind  o'  half  true — that 
is,  just  a  little  bit  true;  but  it  ain't  true;  it's  on'y 
a  big  lie,  when  ye'r  scared  out  o'  your  wits  an' 
needin'  to  know.  I  never  seen  but  one  good  com 
pass  plant,  an'  that  was  the  prairie  Golden  Rod. 
Get  a  bunch  of  them  in  the  open  and  the  most  of 
them  point  north,  but  under  cover  of  taller  truck 
they  jest  point  every  which  way  for  Sunday. 

"If  ye  find  a  beaten   game  trail,  ye  follow  that 

360 


"  The  Two  Smokes  " 


Indian  Signs  and  Getting  Lost 

an'  it'll  bring  ye  to  water — that  is,  if  ye  go  the 
right  way,  an'  that  ye  know  by  its  gettin'  stronger. 
If  it's  peterin'  out,  ye 'r  goin'  in  the  wrong  direction. 
A  flock  of  Ducks  or  a  Loon  going  over  is  sure  to  be 
pointing  for  water.  Y're  safe  to  follow. 

"If  ye  have  a  Dog  or  a  Horse  with  ye  he  kin 
bring  ye  home  all  right.  Never  knew  them  to  fail 
but  oncet,  an'  that  was  a  fool  Horse;  there  is  sech 
oncet  in  awhile,  though  there's  more  fool  Dogs. 

"But  come  right  down  to  it,  the  compass  is  the 
safest  thing.  The  sun  and  stars  is  next,  an'  if  ye 
know  your  friends  will  come  ye'r  best  plan  is  to 
set  right  down  and  make  two  smoke  fires,  keep 
them  a-going,  holler  every  little  while,  and  keep 
calm.  Ye  won't  come  to  no  harm  unless  ye'r  a 
blame  fool,  an'  such  ought  to  stay  to  hum,  where 
they'll  be  nursed." 


363 


XIII 
Tanning  Skins  and  Making  Moccasins 

SAM  had  made  a  find.  A  Calf  had  been  killed 
and  its  skin  hung  limp  on  a  beam  in  the  barn. 
His  father  allowed  him  to  carry  this  off,  and 
now  he  appeared  with  a  "fresh  Buffalo  hide  to 
make  a  robe." 

"I  don't  know  how  the  Injuns  dress  their  robes," 
he  explained,  "but  Caleb  does,  and  he'll  tell  you, 
and,  of  course,  I'll  pay  no  attention." 

The  old  Trapper  had  nothing  to  do,  and  the  only 
bright  spots  in  his  lonely  life,  since  his  own  door 
was  shut  in  his  face,  were  visits  to  the  camp.  These 
had  become  daily,  so  it  was  taken  as  a  matter  of 
course  when,  within  an  hour  after  Sam's  return,  he 
"happened  round." 

"How  do  the  Indians  tan  furs  and  robes?"  Yan 
asked  at  once. 

"Wall,  different  ways " 

But  before  he  could  say  more  Hawkeye  reappeared 
and  shouted: 

"  Say,  boys,  Paw's  old  Horse  died  ! "  and  he  grinned 
joyfully,  merely  because  he  was  the  bearer  of  news. 

"Sappy,   you  grin    so    much   your   back   teeth    is 

364 


Tanning  Skins  and  Making  Moccasins 


gettin'  sunburned,"  and  the  Head  Chief  eyed  him 
sadly. 

"Well,  it's  so,  an'  I'm  going  to  skin  out  his  tail 
for  a  scalp.  I  bet  I'll  be  the  Injunest  one  of  the 
crowd." 

"  Why  don't  you  skin  the  hull  thing,  an'  I'll  show 
you  how  to  make  lots  of  Injun  things  of  the  hide," 
Caleb  added,  as  he  lighted  his  pipe. 

"  Will  you  help  me  ?  " 

"It's  same  as  skinnin'  a  Calf.  I'll  show  you 
where  to  get  the  sewing  sinew  after  the  hide's  off." 

So  the  whole  camp  went  to  Burns's  field.  Guy 
hung  back  and  hid  when  he  saw  his  father  there 
drawing  the  dead  Horse  away  with  the  plough 
team. 

"Good-day,  Jim,"  was  Caleb's  greeting,  for  they 
were  good  friends.  "Struck  hard  luck  with  the 
Horse?" 

"No!  Not  much.  Didn't  cost  nothing;  got  him 
for  boot  in  a  swap.  Glad  he's  dead,  for  he  was 
foundered." 

"We  want  his  skin,  if  you  don't." 

"You're  welcome  to  the  hull  thing." 

"Well,  just  draw  it  over  by  the  line  fence  an' 
we'll  bury  what's  left  when  we're  through." 

"All  right.  You  hain't  seen  that  durn  boy  o' 
mine,  have  you?" 

"Why,  yes;  I  seen  him  not  long  ago,"  said  Sam. 
"He  was  p'inting  right  for  home  then." 

"H-m.     Maybe  I'll  find  him  at  the  house." 


2-65 


Two  Little  Savages 

"Maybe  you  will."  Then  Sam  added  under  his 
6reath,  "I  don't  think." 

So  Burns  left  them,  and  a  few  minutes  later  Guy 
sneaked  out  of  the  woods  to  take  a  secondary  part 
in  the  proceedings  • 

Caleb  showed  them  how  to  split  the  skin  along 
the  under  side  of  each  leg  and  up  the  belly.  It 
was  slow  work  skinning,  but  not  so  unpleasant  as 
Yan  feared,  since  the  animal  was  fresh. 

Caleb  did  the  most  of  the  work;  Sam  and  Yan 
helped.  Guy  assisted  with  reminiscences  of  his 
own  Calf -skinning  and  with  suggestions  drawn  from 
his  vast  experiences. 

When  the  upper  half  of  the  skin  was  off,  Caleb 
remarked:  "Don't  believe  we  can  turn  him  over, 
and  when  the  Injuns  didn't  have  a  Horse  at  hand 
to  turn  over  the  Buffalo  they  used  to  cut  the  skin 
in  two  down  the  line  of  the  back.  I  guess  we 
better  do  that.  We've  got  all  the  rawhide  we  need, 
anyhow." 

So  they  cut  off  the  half  they  had  skinned,  took  the 
tail  and  the  mane  for  "scalps,"  and  then  Caleb  sent 
Yan  for  the  axe  and  a  pail. 

He  cut  out  a  lump  of  liver  and  the  brains  of  the 
Horse.  "That,"  said  he,  "is  for  tanning,  an'  here 
is  where  the  Injun  woman  gits  her  sewing  thread." 

He  made  a  deep  cut  alongside  the  back  bone  from 
the  middle  of  the  back  to  the  loin,  then  forcing  his 
fingers  under  a  broad  band  of  whitish  fibrous  tissue, 
he  raised  it  up,  working  and  cutting  till  it  ran  down 

360 


Tanning  Skins  and  Making  Moccasins 

to  the  hip  bone  and  forward  to  the  ribs.  This 
sewing  sinew  was  about  four  inches  wide,  very  thin, 
and  could  easily  be  split  again  and  again  till  it  was 
like  fine  thread. 

"There,"  he  said,  "is  a  hank  o'  thread.  Keep 
that.  It'll  dry  up,  but  can  be  split  at  any  time,  and 
soaking  in  warm  water  for  twenty  minutes  makes 
it  soft  and  ready  for  use.  Usually,  when  she's 
sewing,  the  squaw  keeps  a  thread  soaking  in  her 
mouth  to  be  ready.  Now  we've  got  a  Horse  skin 
and  a  Calfskin  I  guess  we  better  set  up  a  tan-yard." 
"Well,  how  do  you  tan  furs,  Mr.  Clark?" 
"Good  many  different  ways.  Sometimes  just 
scrape  and  scrape  till  I  get  all  the  grease  and  meat 
off  the  inside,  then  coat  it  with  alum  and  salt  and 
leave  it  rolled  up  for  a  couple  of  days  till  the  alum 
has  struck  through  and  made  the  skin  white  at  the 
roots  of  the  hair,  then  when  this  is  half  dry  pull 
and  work  it  till  it  is  all  soft. 

"But  the  Injuns  don't  have  alum  and  salt,  and 
they  make  a  fine  tan  out  of  the  liver  and  brains,  like 
I'm  going  to  do  with  this." 

"Well,  I  want  to  do  it  the  Indian  way." 
"All  right,  you  take  the  brains  and  liver  of  your 
Calf." 

"Why  not  some  of  the  Horse  brains  and  liver?" 
"Oh,  I  dunno.     They    never  do  it  that  way  that 
I've   seen.     Seems   like   it  went   best  with   its   own 
brains." 

"Now,"  remarked  the  philosophical  Woodpecker, 

367 


Two  Little  Savages 


"I  call  that  a  wonderful  provision  of  nature,  always 
to  put  Calf  brains  and  liver  into  a  Calfskin,  and  just 
enough  to  tan  it." 

"  First  thing  always  is  to  clean  your  pelt,  and 
while  you  do  that  I'll  put  the  Horsehide  in  the  mud 
to  soak  off  the  hair."  He  put  it  in  the  warm  mud 
to  soak  there  a  couple  of  days,  just  as  he  had  done 
the  Calfskin  for  the  drum-heads,  then  came  to  super 
intend  the  dressing  of  the  Buffalo  "robe." 

Sam  first  went  home  for  the  Calf  brains  and  liver, 
then  he  and  Yan  scraped  the  skin  till  they  got  out 
a  vast  quantity  of  grease,  leaving  the  flesh  side 
bluish-white  and  clammy,  but  not  greasy  to  the 
touch.  The  liver  of  the  Calf  was  boiled  for  an  hour 
and  then  mashed  up  with  the  raw  brains  into  a 
tanning  "dope"  or  mash  and  spread  on  the  flesh 
side  of  the  hide,  which  was  doubled,  rolled  up  and 
put  in  a  cool  place  for  two  days.  It  was  then  opened 
out,  washed  clean  in  the  brook  and  hung  till  nearly 
dry.  Then  Caleb  cut  a  hardwood  stake  to  a  sharp 
edge  and  showed  Yan  how  to  pull  and  work  the  hide 
over  the  edge  till  it  was  all  soft  and  leathery. 

The  treatment  of  the  Horsehide  was  the  same, 
once  the  hair  was  removed,  but  the  greater  thickness 
needed  a  longer  soaking  in  the  "tan  dope." 

After  two  days  the  Trapper  scraped  it  clean  and 
worked  it  on  the  sharp-edged  stake.  It  soon  began  to 
look  like  leather,  except  in  one  or  two  spots.  On 
examining  these  he  said: 

"H-m.    Tanning  didn't  strike  right  through  every 

368 


Tanning  Skins  and  Making  Moccasins 

place."  So  he  buttered  it  again  with  the  mash  and 
gave  it  a  day  more;  then  worked  it  as  before  over 
the  angle  of  the  pole  till  it  was  soft  and  fibrous. 

"There,"  said  he,  "that's  Injun  tan  leather.  I 
have  seen  it  done  by  soaking  the  hide  for  a  few 
days  in  liquor  made  by  boiling  Hemlock  or  Balsam 
bark  in  water  till  it's  like  brown  ink,  but  it 
ain't  any  better  than  that.  Now  it  needs  one  thing 
more  to  keep  it  from  hardening  after  being  wet. 
It  has  to  be  smoked." 

So  he  made  a  smoke  fire  by  smothering  a  clear 
fire  with  rotten  wood;  then  fastening  the  Horse- 
hide  into  a  cone  with  a  few  wooden  pins,  he  hung 
it  in  the  dense  smoke  for  a  couple  of  hours,  first 
one  side  out,  then  the  other,  till  it  was  all  of  a  rich 
smoky-tan  colour  and  had  the  smell  so  well  known 
to  those  who  handle  Indian  leather. 

"There  it  is;  that's  Injun  tan,  an'  I  hope  you  see 
that  elbow  grease  is  the  main  thing  in  tannin'." 

"Now,  will  you  show  us  how  to  make  moccasins 
and  war-shirts?"  asked  Little  Beaver,  with  his  usual 
enthusiasm. 

"Well,  the  moccasins  is  easy,  but  I  won't  promise 
about  the  war-shirts.  That's  pretty  much  a  case 
of  following  the  pattern  of  your  own  coat,  with  the 
front  in  one  piece,  but  cut  down  just  far  enough  for 
your  head  to  go  through,  instead  of  all  the  way, 
and  fixed  with  tie-strings  at  the  throat  and  fringes  at 
the  seams  and  at  the  bottom;  it  hain't  easy  to  do. 
But  any  one  kin  larn  to  make  moccasins.  There  is 

369 


Two  Little  Savages 

two  styles  of  them — that  is,  two  main  styles.  Every 
Tribe  has  its  own  make,  and  an  Injun  can  tell  what 
language  another  speaks  as  soon  as  he  sees  his  foot 
gear.  The  two  best  known  are  the  Ojibwa,  with  soft 
sole — sole  and  upper  all  in  one,  an'  a  puckered  instep 
— that's  what  Ojibwa  means — 'puckered  moccasin.' 
The  other  style  is  the  one  most  used  in  the  Plains. 
You  see,  they  have  to  wear  a  hard  sole,  'cause  the 
country  is  full  of  cactus  and  thorns  as  well  as  sharp 
stones." 

"I  want  the  Sioux  style.  We  have  copied  their 
teepee  and  war  bonnet — and  the  Sioux  are  the  best 
Indians,  anyway." 

"Or  the  worst,  according  to  what  side  you're  on," 
was  Caleb's  reply.  But  he  went  on:  "Sioux  Injuns 
are  Plains  Injuns  and  wear  a  hard  sole.  Let's  see, 
now.  I'll  cut  you  a  pair." 

"No,  make  them  for  me.  It's  my  Horse,"  said 
Guy. 

"No,  you  don't.  Your  Paw  give  that  to  me." 
Caleb's  tone  said  plainly  that  Guy's  laziness  had 
made  a  bad  impression,  so  he  had  to  stand  aside 
while  Yan  was  measured.  Caleb  had  saved  a  part 
of  the  hide  untanned  though  thoroughly  cleaned. 
This  was  soaked  in  warm  water  till  soft.  Yan's 
foot  was  placed  on  it  and  a  line  drawn  around  the 
foot  for  a  guide;  this  when  cut  out  made  the  sole  of 
one  moccasin  (A,  cut  below),  and  by  turning  it  under 
side  up  it  served  as  pattern  to  cut  the  other. 

Now  Caleb  measured  the  length  of  the  foot  and 


Tanning  Skins  and  Making  Moccasins 

added  one  inch,  and  the  width  across  the  instep,  adding 
half  an  inch,  and  with  these  as  greatest  length  and 
breadth  cut  out  a  piece  of  soft  leather  (B).  Then  in 
this  he  made  the  cut  a  b  on  the  middle  line  one  way 
and  c  d  on  the  middle  line  the  other  way.  A  second 
piece  the  reverse  of  this  was  cut,  and  next  a  piece 
of  soft  leather  for  inside  tongue  (C)  was  sewn  to  the 
large  piece  (B),  so  that  the  edge  a  b  of  C  was  fast 
to  a  b  of  B.  A  second  piece  was  sewn  to  the  other 
leather  (B  reversed). 

"Them's  your  vamps  for  uppers.  Now's  the  time 
to  bead  'em  if  you  want  to." 

"Don't  know  how." 

"Well,  I  can't  larn  you  that;  that's  a  woman's 
work.  But  I  kin  show  you  the  pattern  of  the  first 
pair  I  ever  wore;  I  ain't  likely  to  forget  'em,  for  I 
killed  the  Buffalo  myself  and  seen  the  hull  making." 
He  might  have  added  that  he  subsequently  married 
the  squaw,  but  he  did  not. 

"There's  about  the  style"  [D].  "Them  three- 
cornered  red  and  white  things  all  round  is  the  hills 
where  the  moccasins  was  to  carry  me  safely;  on 
the  heel  is  a  little  blue  pathway  with  nothing  in  it: 
that  is  behind — it's  past.  On  the  instep  is  three 
red,  white  and  blue  pathways  where  the  moccasin 
was  to  take  me:  they're  ahead — in  the  future.  Each 
path  has  lots  of  things  in  it,  mostly  changes  and 
trails,  an'  all  three  ends  in  an  Eagle  feather — that 
stands  for  an  honour.  Ye  kin  paint  them  that  way 
after  they're  made.  Well,  now,  we'll  sew  on  the 


Two  Little  Savages 

upper  with  a  good  thick  strand  of  sinew  in  the 
needle — or  if  you  have  an  awl  you  kin  do  without 
a  needle  on  a  pinch — and  be  sure  to  bring  the  stitches 
out  Ihe  edge  of  the  sole  instead  of  right  through, 
then  they  don't  wear  off.  That's  the  way."  [E.] 

So  they  worked  away,  clumsily,  while  Guy  snickered 
and  sizzled,  and  Sam  suggested  that  Si  Lee  would 
make  a  better  squaw  than  both  of  them. 

The  sole  as  well  as  the  upper  being  quite  soft 
allowed  them  to  turn  the  moccasin  inside  out  as 
often  as  they  liked — and  they  did  like;  it  seemed 
necessary  to  reverse  it  every  few  minutes.  But  at 
length  the  two  pieces  were  fastened  together  all 
around,  the  seam  gap  at  the  heel  was  quickly  sewn 
up,  four  pairs  of  lace  holes  were  made  (a,  6,  c,  d,  in 
D),  and  an  eight een-inch  strip  of  soft  leather  run 
through  them  for  a  lace. 

Now  Yan  painted  the  uppers  with  his  Indian 
paints  in  the  pattern  that  Caleb  had  suggested,  and 
the  moccasins  were  done. 

A  squaw  would  have  made  half  a  dozen  good 
pairs  while  Yan  and  Caleb  made  the  one  poor  pair. 
but  she  would  not  have  felt  so  happy  about  it. 


372 


XIV 
Caleb's  Philosophy 

THE  tracks  of  Mink  appeared  from  time  to  time 
on  Yan'screekside  mud  albums,  and  at  length 
another  of  these  tireless  watchers,  placed  at 
the  Wakan  Rock,  reported  to  him  that  Mink  as  well 
as  Skunks  came  there  now  for  a  nightly  feast. 

The  Mink  was  a  large  one,  judging  by  the  marks, 
and  Caleb  was  asked  to  help  in  trapping  it. 

"How  do  you  trap  Mink,  Mr.  Clark?"  was  the 
question. 

"Don't  trap  'em  at  all  this  time  o'  year,  for  they're 
no  good  till  October,"  was  the  answer. 

"Well,  how  do  you  trap  them  when  they  are  in 
season?" 

"Oh,  different  ways." 

It  was  slow  work,  but  Yan  kept  on  and  at  length 
got  the  old  man  going. 

"Airly  days  we  always  used  a  deadfall  for  Mink. 
That's  made  like  this,  with  a  bird  or  a  Partridge 
head  for  bait.  That  kills  him  sure,  sudden  and 
merciful.  Then  if  it's  cold  weather  he  freezes  and 
keeps  O.  K.  till  you  come  around  to  get  him ;  but 
in  warm  weather  lots  o'  pelts  are  spoiled  by  being 
kept  too  long,  so  ye  have  to  go  round  pretty  often 

373 


Two  Little  Savages 

to  save  all  you  kill.  Then  some  one  brought  in 
them  new-fangled  steel  traps  that  catches  them  by 
the  foot  and  holds  them  for  days  and  days,  some 
times,  till  they  jest  starve  to  death  or  chaw  their 
foot  off  to  get  free.  I  mind  once  I  ketched  a  Mink 
with  only  two  legs  left.  He  had  been  in  a  steel  trap 
twice  before  and  chawed  off  his  leg  to  get  away. 
Them  traps  save  the  trapper  going  round  so  often, 
but  they're  expensive,  and  heavy  to  carry,  and  you 
have  got  to  be  awful  hard-hearted  before  ye  kin 
use  'em.  I  tell  ye,  when  I  thought  of  all  the  suf- 
ferin'  that  Mink  went  through  it  settled  me  for  steel 
traps.  Since  then,  says  I,  if  ye  must  trap,  use  a 
deadfall  or  a  ketchalive,  one  or  other;  no  manglin' 
an'  tormentin'  for  days.  I  tell  ye  that  thar  new 
Otter  trap  that  grabs  them  in  iron  claws  ought  to 
be  forbid  by  law;  it  ain't  human. 

"Same  way  about  huntin'.  Huntin's  great  sport, 
an'  it  can't  be  bad,  'cause  I  can't  for  the  life  of  me 
see  that  it  makes  men  bad.  'Pears  to  me  men  as  hunt 
is  humaner  than  them  as  is  above  it;  as  for  the 
cruelty — wall,  we  know  that  no  wild  animal  dies 
easy  abed.  They  all  get  killed  soon  or  late,  an' 
if  it's  any  help  to  man  to  kill  them  I  reckon  he  has 
as  good  a  right  to  do  it  as  Wolves  an'  Wildcats. 
It  don't  hurt  any  more — yes,  a  blame  sight  less — to 
be  killed  by  a  rifle  ball  than  to  be  chawed  by  Wolves. 
The  on'y  thing  I  says  is  don't  do  it  cruel — an'  don't 
wipe  out  the  hull  bunch.  If  ye  never  kill  a  thing 
that's  no  harm  to  ye  'live  an'  no  good  to  ye 

374 


Caleb's  Philosophy 

nor  more  than  the  country  kin  stand,  'pears  to  me 
ye  won't  do  much  harm,  an'  ye'll  have  a  lot  o'  real 
fun  to  think  about  afterward. 

"But  I  mind  a  feller  from  Europe,  some  kind  o' 
swell,  that  I  was  guidin'  out  West.  He  had  crippled 
a  Deer  so  it  couldn't  get  away.  Then  he  sat  down 
to  eat  lunch  right  by,  and  every  few  moments  he'd 
fire  a  shot  into  some  part  or  another,  experimentin' 
an'  aimin'  not  to  kill  it  for  awhile.  I  heard  the 
shootin'  an'  blattin',  an'  when  I  come  up  I  tell  ye 
it  set  my  blood  a-boilin'.  I  called  him  some  names 
men  don't  like,  an'  put  that  Deer  out  o'  pain  quick 
as  I  could  pull  trigger.  That  bu'st  up  our  party — 
I  didn't  want  no  more  o'  him.  He  come  pretty 
near  lyin'  by  the  Deer  that  day.  It  makes  me  hot 
yet  when  I  think  of  it. 

"If  he'd  shot  that  Deer  down  runnin'  an'  killed 
it  as  quick  as  he  could  it  wouldn't  'a'  suffered  more 
than  if  it  had  been  snagged  a  little,  'cause  bullets 
of  right  weight  numb  when  they  hit.  The  Deer 
wouldn't  have  suffered  more  than  he  naturally  would 
at  his  finish,  maybe  less,  an'  he'd  'a'  suffered  it  at  a 
time  when  he  could  be  some  good  to  them  as  hunted 
him.  An'  these  yer  new  repeatin'  guns  is  a  curse. 
A  feller  knows  he  has  lots  of  shot  and  so  blazes 
away  into  a  band  o'  Deer  as  long  as  he  can  see,  an' 
lots  gets  away  crippled,  to  suffer  an'  die;  but  when 
a  feller  has  only  one  shot  he's  going  to  place  it 
mighty  keerful.  Ef  it's  sport  ye  want,  get  a  single- 
shot  iifle;  ef  it's  destruction,  get  a  Gatling-gun. 


375 


Two  Little  Savages 

Sport's  good,  but  I'm  agin  this  yer  wholesale  killin' 
an'  cruelty.  Steel  traps,  light-weight  bullets  an' 
repeatin'  guns  ain't  human.  I  tell  ye  it's  them  as 
makes  all  the  suflerin'." 

This  was  a  long  speech  for  Caleb,  but  it  was 
really  less  connected  than  here  given.  Yan  had  to 
keep  him  going  with  occasional  questions.  This 
he  followed  up. 

"What  do  you  think  about  bows  and  arrows, 
Mr.  Clark?" 

"I  wouldn't  like  to  use  them  on  big  game  like 
Bear  and  Deer,  but  I'd  be  glad  if  shotguns  was  done 
away  with  and  small  game  could  be  killed  only 
with  arrows.  They  are  either  sure  death  or  clear 
miss.  There's  no  cripples  to  get  away  and  die. 
You  can't  fire  an  arrow  into  a  flock  of  birds  and 
wipe  out  one  hundred,  like  you  can  with  one  of  them 
blame  scatterguns.  It's  them  things  that  is  killing 
off  all  the  small  game.  Some  day  they'll  invent  a 
scattergun  that  is  a  pump  repeater  like  them  new 
styles,  and  when  every  fool  has  one  they'll  wonder 
where  all  the  small  game  has  gone  to. 

"No,  sir,  I'm  agin  them.  Bows  and  arrows  is 
less  destructful  an'  calls  for  more  Woodcraft  an' 
give  more  sport — that  is,  for  small  game.  Besides, 
they  don't  make  that  awful  racket,  an'  you  know 
who  is  the  party  that  owns  the  shot,  for  every 
arrow  is  marked." 

Yan  was  sorry  that  Caleb  did  not  indorse  the  arrow 
for  big  game,  too. 

376 


Caleb's  Philosophy 


it  if  you  don't  keep  it 
boards  ?     We    used    to 


The  Trapper  was  well  started  now;  he  seemed 
ready  enough  with  information  to-day,  and  Yan 
knew  enough  to  "run  the  rapids  on  the  freshet." 

"How  do  you  make  a  ketchalive?" 

"What  for?" 

"Oh,   Mink." 

"They  ain't  fit  to  catch  now,  and  the  young  ones 
need  the  mothers." 

"I  wouldn't  keep  it.  I  only  want  to  make  a 
drawing." 

"Guess  that  v^on't   harm 
too    long.     Have    ye     any 
chop  the  whole  thing  out  of  a  piece  of  Balsam  wood 
or   White   Pine,  but   the   more   stuff  ye   find   ready 
made  the  easier  it  is.     Now  I'll  show  you  how  to 
make    a 'ketchalive    if    ye '11    promise     me    never   to 
miss  a  day  going  to  it  while  it  is  set." 

The  boys  did  not  understand  how  any  one  could 
miss  a  day  in  visiting  a  place  of  so  much  interest, 
and  readily  promised. 

So  they  made  a  ketchalive,  or  box-trap,  two  feet 
long,  using  hay  wire  to  make  a  strong  netting  at 
one  end. 

"Now,"  said  the  trapper,  "that  will  catch  Mink, 
Muskrat,  Skunk,  Rabbit — 'most  anything,  'cording 
to  where  you  put  it  and  how  you  bait  it." 

"Seems  to  me  the  Wakan  Rock  will  be  a  good 
place  to  try." 

So  the  trap  was  baited  with  a  fish  head  firmly 
lashed  on  the  wire  trigger. 


377 


Two  Little  Savages 

In  the  morning,  as  Yan  approached,  he  saw  that 
it  was  sprung.  A  peculiar  whining  and  scratching 
came  from  it  and  he  shouted  in  great  excitement: 
"Boys,  boys,  I've  got  him!  I've  got  the  Mink!" 

They  seized  the  trap  and  held  it  cautiously  up 
for  the  sunlight  to  shine  through  the  bars,  and  there 
saw  to  their  disgust  that  they  had  captured  only 
the  old  gray  Cat.  As  soon  as  the  lid  was  raised  she 
bounded  away,  spitting  and  hissing,  no  doubt  to 
hurry  home  to  tell  the  Kittens  that  it  was  all  right, 
although  she  had  been  away  so  long. 


378 


XV 


A  Visit  from  Raften 


SAM,  I  must  have  another  note-book.  It's  no 
good  getting  up  a  new  '  massacree '  of  Whites, 
'cause  there  ain't  any  note-books  there,  but 
maybe  your  father  would  get  one  the  next  time 
he  drove  to  Downey's  Dump.  I  suppose  I'll  have 
to  go  on  a  peace  party  to  ask  him." 

Sam  made  no  answer,  but  looked  and  listened  out 
toward  the  trail,  then  said:  "Talk  of  the  er — 
angels,  here  comes  Da." 

When  the  big  man  strode  up  Yan  and  Guy  became 
very  shy  and  held  back.  Sam,  in  full  war-paint, 
prattled  on  in  his  usual  style. 

"Morning,  Da;  I'm  yer  kid.  Bet  ye'r  in  trouble 
an'  want  advice  or  something." 

Raften  rolled  up  his  pendulous  lips  and  displayed 
his  huge  yellow  tusks  in  a  vast  purple-and-yellow 
grin  that  set  the  boys'  hearts  at  ease. 

"  Kind  o'  thought  you'd  be  sick  av  it  before  now." 

' '  Will  you  let  us  stay  here  till  we  are  ? ' '  chimed  in 
Sam,  then  without  awaiting  the  reply  that  he  did 
not  want,  "Say,  Da,  how  long  is  it  since  there  was 
any  Deer  around  here?" 

"Pretty  near  twenty  years,  I  should  say." 


379 


Two  Little  Savages 

"  Well,  look  at  that  now,"  whispered  the  Wood 
pecker. 

Raften  looked  and  got  quite  a  thrill,  for  the 
dummy,  half  hidden  in  the  thicket,  looked  much 
like  a  real  Deer. 

"Don't  you  want  to  try  a  shot?"  ventured  Yan. 

Raften  took  the  bow  and  arrow  and  made  such  a 
poor  showing  that  he  returned  them  with  the  remark, 
"Sure,  a  gun's  good  enough  for  me,"  then,  "  Ole 
Caleb  been  around  since?" 

"  Old  Caleb?  I  should  say  so;  why,  he's  our  stiddy 
company." 

"  'Pears  fonder  o'  you  than  he  is  o'  me." 

"Say,  Da,  tell  us  about  that.  How  do  you  know 
it  was  Caleb  shot  at  you?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know  it  to  prove  it  in  a  coort  o'  law, 
but  we  quarr'led  that  day  in  town  after  the  Horse 
trade  an'  he  swore  he'd  fix  me  an'  left  town.  His 
own  stepson,  Dick  Pogue,  stood  right  by  and  heard 
him  say  it ;  then  at  night  when  I  come  along  the  road 
by  the  green  bush  I  was  fired  at,  an'  next  day  we 
found  Caleb's  tobacco  pouch  and  some  letters  not 
far  away.  That's  about  all  I  know,  an'  all  I  want  to 
know.  Pogue  served  him  a  mean  trick  about  the 
farm,  but  that's  none  o'  my  business.  I  'spect  the 
old  fellow  will  have  to  get  out  an'  scratch  for  himself 
pretty  soon." 

"  He  seems  kind-hearted,"  said  Yan. 

"Ah,  he's  got  an  awful  temper,  an'  when  he  gets 
drunk  he'd  do  anything.  Other  times  he's  all  right." 

380 


A  Visit  from  Raftcn 

"Well,  how  is  it  about  the  farm?"  Sam  asked. 
"  Doesn't  he  own  it  ?  " 

"No,  I  guess  not  now.  I  don't  r'aly  know.  I 
only  hear  them  say.  Av  coorse,  Saryann  ain't  his 
own  daughter.  She's  nowt  o'  kin,  but  he  has  no 
one  else,  and  Dick  was  my  hired  man — a  purty  slick 
feller  with  his  tongue ;  he  could  talk  a  bird  off  a  bush ; 
but  he  was  a  good  worker.  He  married  Sary  and 
persuaded  the  old  man  to  deed  them  the  place,  him 
to  live  in  comfort  with  them  to  the  end  of  his  days. 
But  once  they  got  the  place,  'twas  aisy  to  see  that 
Dick  meant  to  get  rid  o'  Caleb,  an'  the  capsheaf 
was  put  last  year,  about  his  Dog,  old  Turk.  They 
wouldn't  have  him  'round.  They  said  he  was 
scaring  the  hens  and  chasing  sheep,  which  is  like 
enough,  for  I  believe  he  killed  wan  ov  my  lambs, 
an'  I'd  give  ten  dollars  to  have  him  killed — making 
sure  'twas  him,  av  coorse.  Rather  than  give  up  the 
Dog,  Caleb  moved  out  into  the  shanty  on  the  creek 
at  the  other  end  of  the  place.  Things  was  better 
then,  for  Dick  and  Saryann  let  up  for  awhile  an' 
sent  him  lots  o'  flour  an'  stuff,  but  folks  say  they're 
fixin'  it  to  put  the  old  man  out  o'  that  and  get  shet 
of  him  for  good.  But  I  dunno;  it's  none  o'  my 
business,  though  he  does  blame  me  for  putting  Dick 
up  to  it." 

"How's  the  note-book?"  as  Raften's  eye  caught 
sight  of  the  open  sketch-book  still  in  Yan's  hand. 

"Oh,  that  reminds  me,"  was  the  reply.  "But 
what  is  this?"  He  showed  the  hoof -mark  he  had 
sketched.  Raften  examined  it  curiously. 

381 


Two  Little  Savages 

"  H-m,  I  dunno';  'pears  to  me  moighty  loike  a  big 
Buck.  But  I  guess  not;  there  ain't  any  left." 

"Say,  Da,"  Sam  persisted,  "wouldn't  you  be  sore 
if  you  was  an  old  man  robbed  and  turned  out  ? ' ' 

"  Av  coorse;  but  I  wouldn't  lose  in  a  game  of  swap- 
horse,  an'  then  go  gunnin'  after  the  feller.  If  I  had 
owt  agin  him  I'd  go  an'  lick  him  or  be  licked,  an' 
take  it  all  good-natured.  Now  that's  enough.  We'll 
talk  about  something  else." 

"Will  you  buy  me  another  note-book  next  time 
you  go  to  Downey's  Dump  ?  I  don't  know  how 
much  it  will  cost  or  I'd  give  you  the  money,"  said 
Yan,  praying  mentally  that  it  be  not  more  than  the 
five  or  ten  cents  which  was  all  his  capital. 

"Shure;  I'll  charge  it  up.  But  ye  needn't  wait 
till  next  week.  Thayer's  one  back  at  the  White 
settlement  ye  can  have  for  nothin'." 

"Say,  Mr.  Raften,"  Guy  broke  in,  "I  kin  lick  them 
all  at  Deer-hunting." 

Sam  looked  at  Yan  and  Yan  looked  at  Sam,  then 
glanced  at  Guy,  made  some  perfectly  diabolical 
signs,  seized  each  a  long  knife  and  sprung  toward 
the  Third  War  Chief,  but  he  dodged  behind  Raften 
and  commenced  his  usual  "Now  you  let  me 
'lone " 

Raften's  eye  twinkled.  "Shure,  I  thought  ye  was 
all  wan  Tribe  an'  paceable." 

"We've  got  to  suppress  crime,"  retorted  his  son. 

"Make  him  let  me  'lone,"  whimpered  Sapwood. 

"We'll  let  ye  off  this  time  if  ye  find  that  Wood- 

382 


A  Visit  from  Raften 

chuck.  It's  near  two  days  since  we've  had  a 
skirmish." 

"All  right,"  and  he  went.  Within  five  minutes 
he  came  running  back,  beckoning.  The  boys  got 
their  bows  and  arrows,  but  fearing  a  trick  they  held 
back.  Guy  dashed  for  his  own  weapons  with  unmis 
takable  and  reassuring  zest;  then  all  set  out  for  the 
field.  Raften  followed,  after  asking  if  it  would  be 
safe  for  him  to  come  along. 

The  grizzly  old  Woodchuck  was  there  feeding  in 
a  bunch  of  clover.  The  boys  sneaked  under  the 
fence,  crawling  through  the  grass  in  true  Injun 
fashion,  till  the  Woodchuck  stood  up  to  look  around, 
then  they  lay  still ;  when  he  went  down  they  crawled 
again,  and  all  got  within  forty  yards.  Now  the  old 
fellow  seemed  suspicious,  so  Sam  said,  "Next  time 
he  feeds  we  all  fire  together."  As  soon,  then,  as  the 
Woodchuck 's  breast  was  replaced  by  the  gray  back, 
the  boys  got  partly  up  and  fired.  The  arrows 
whizzed  around  Old  Grizzly,  but  all  missed,  and  he 
had  scrambled  to  his  hole  before  they  could  send  a 
second  volley. 

"Hallo,  why  didn't  you  hit  him,  Sappy?" 

"I'll  bet  I  do  next  time." 

When  they  returned  to  Raften  he  received  them 
with  ridicule. 

"But  ye'r  a  poor  lot  o'  hunters.  Ye'd  all 
starve  if  it  wasn't  for  the  White  settlement  nearby. 
Faith,  if  ye  was  rale  Injun  ye'd  sit  up  all  night 
at  that  hole  till  he  come  out  in  the  morning, 

383 


Two  Little  Savages 

then  ye'd  get  him;  an'  when  ye  get  through  with 
that  one  I've  got  another  in  the  high  pasture  ye  kin 
work  on." 

So  saying,  he  left  them,  and  Sam  called  after 
him: 

"Say,  Da;  where's  that  note-book  for  Yan?  He's 
the  Chief  of  the  'coup-tally,'  and  I  reckon  he'll  soon 
have  a  job  an'  need  his  book.  I  feel  it  in  my  bones." 

"I'll  lave  it  on  yer  bed."  Which  he  did,  and  Yan 
and  Sam  had  the  pleasure  of  lifting  it  out  of  the 
window  with  a  split  stick. 


384 


XVI 
How  Yan  Knew  the  Ducks  Afar 

ONE  day  as  the  great  Woodpecker  lay  on  his 
back  in  the  shade  he  said  in  a  tone  of  lofty 
command : 

"  Little  Beaver,  I  want  to  be  amused.  Come  hyar. 
Tell  me  a  story. " 

"How  would  you  like  a  lesson  in  Tutnee  ? "  was 
the  Second  Chief's  reply,  but  he  had  tried  this  before, 
and  he  found  neither  Sam  nor  Guy  inclined  to  take 
any  interest  in  the  very  dead  language. 

"Tell  me  a  story,  I  said,"  was  the  savage  answer 
of  the  scowling  and  ferocious  Woodpecker. 

"All  right,"  said  Little  Beaver.  "I'll  tell  you 
a  story  of  such  a  fine  boy — oh,  he  was  the  noblest 
little  hero  that  ever  wore  pantaloons  or  got  spanked 
in  school.  Well,  this  boy  went  to  live  in  the  woods, 
and  he  wanted  to  get  acquainted  with  all  the  living 
wild  things.  He  found  lots  of  difficulties  and  no  one 
to  help  him,  but  he  kept  on  and  on — oh  !  he  was  so 
noble  and  brave — and  made  notes,  and  when  he 
learned  anything  new  he  froze  on  to  it  like  grim 
death.  By  and  by  he  got  a  book  that  was  some  help, 
but  not  much.  It  told  about  some  of  the  birds  as 
if  you  had  them  in  your  hand.  But  this  heroic  youth 
only  saw  them  at  a  distance  and  he  was  stuck.  One 
day  he  saw  a  wild  Duck  on  a  pond  so  far  away  he 

385 


~E^  Two  Little  Savages 

could  only  see  some  spots  of  colour,  but  In1  made  a 
sketch  of  it,  and  later  he-  found  out  from  that  rough 
sketch  that  it  was  a  Whistler,  and  then  this  wonderful 
boy  had  an  idea.  All  the  Ducks  are  different;  all 
have  little  blots  and  streaks  that  are  their  labels,  or 
like  the  uniforms  of  soldiers.  'Now,  if  I  can  put 
their  uniforms  down  on  paper  I'll  know  the  Ducks 
as  soon  as  I  see  them  on  a  pond  a  long  way  off.'  So 
he  set  to  work  and  drew  what  he  could  find.  One 
of  his  friends  hail  a  stuffed  Wood-duck,  so  the  '  Hoy- 
that-wanted-tO-know '  drew  that  from  a  long  way  off. 
He  got  another  from  an  engraving  and  two  more  from 
the  window  of  a  taxidermist  shop.  Hut  he  knew 
perfectly  well  that  there  are  twenty  or  thirty  different 
kinds  of  Ducks,  for  he  often  saw  others  at  a  distance 
and  made  far-sketches,  hoping  some  day  he'd  find 
out  what  they  were.  Well,  one  day  the  'Hoy-that- 
wanted-to-know '  sketched  a  new  Duck  on  a  pond, 
and  he  saw  it  again  and  again,  but  couldn't  find  out 
what  it  was.  and  there  was  his  b-e-a-u-t-i-f-u-l  sketch, 
but  no  one  to  tell  him  its  name,  so  when  he  saw  that, 
he  just  had  to  go  into  the  teepee  and  steal  the  First 
War  Chief's  last  apple  and  eat  it  to  hide  his  emotion.  " 

Here  Yan  produced  an  apple  and  began  to  eat  it 
with  an  air  of  sail  ness. 

Without  changing  a  muscle,  the  (ireat  Woodpecker 
continued  the  tale: 

"Then  when  the  First  War  Thief  heard  the  harrow 
ing  talc  of  a  blighted  life,  lie  said:  'Shucks,  1  didn't 
want  that  old  apple.  It  was  fished  out  of  the  swill- 

386 

THK  R1VKR  D1VKS 
The  males  usually  with  shining  green  and  black  on  head  and  wings,  the  tcnules  streaky  gray-brown. 

4.  Mallard .(A  H.-IS  /><>.?< -//,/,O.     Red  feet;  male  has  pale,  greenish  bill.     Known'in  flight  by  white  tail  feathers  and 
thin  white  bar  on  wing. 

5.  Black  Duck  or  Husky  Duck  (Art,™  (>/'\<-,vr,/K     Dark  bill,  red  feet,  no  white  except  in  flight,  then  shows  white 
lining  of  wings. 

6.  Gadwall  or  Gray  Duck  (Anns  strffcra).      Beak  flesh-coloured  on  edges,  feet  reddish,  a  white  spot  on  wing 
showing  in  flight. 

7.  Widgeon  or  Baldpate  (A  .  <iinfn\;i>:.i^.     Bill  and  feet  dull  blue  ;  a  large  white  spot  on  wing  in  flight ;  female 
has  sides  reddish. 

8.  Green-winged  Teal  (A  .  i;tr-<v'inf>ist.^.     Hill  and  feet  dark, 
q.     Blue-winged  Teal  (A.  </rsc<>rsi.     Bill  and  feet  dark. 

10.    Shoveller  (Sf><itnl,i  c/'y^-.tf,^.     Bill  dark,  feet  red.  eye  yellow-orange;  a  white  patch  on  wings  showing  in  flight. 
n.     Pintail  or  Sprigtail  ^  Aj/»7r7  ,icutit).     Bill  and  feet  dull  blue. 

12.    Wood  Duck  or  Summer  Duck  (A  ix  spans*).     Bill  of  male  red,  paddle-box  buff,  bill  of  female  and  feet  of  both 
dark. 


2.  Red-bccasted  M 


The   Fish-Ducks,   Sawbills  or  Mergansers 


*$, 


ix.  Pintail 

The  River  Ducks 


12.  Wood  Duck 


(See  description  on  page  386.) 
Far-sketches  showing  common  Ducks  as  seen  on  the  water  at  about  50  yards  distance.    The  pair  is  shown  in  each 

square,  the  male  above. 
N.  B.    The  wings  are  rarely  seen  when  the  bird  is  swimming. 

THE  FISH-DUCK,  SAWBILLS  OR  MERGANSERS 

Largely  white  and  all  are  crested,  wings  with  large  white  areas  in  flight. 

1.  The  Shelldrake  or  Goosander  : ' ^Itrganser  atnericanus^.     Bill,  feet  and  eye  red. 

2.  The  Sawbill  or  Red-breasted  Merganser  <Merganser  scrrator).     Bill  and  feet  red. 

3.  Hooded  Merganser  (Lophodytes  cucullatus).    Bill  and  feet  dark  ;  paddle-box  buff. 


How  Yan  Knew  the  Ducks  Afar 

barrel  anyway,  but  'pears  to  me  when  a  feller  sets 
out  to  do  a  thing  an'  don't  he's  a  'dumb  failure,' 
which  ain't  much  difference  from  a  'durn  fool.' 

"  Now,  if  this  heroic  youth  had  had  gumption 
enough  to  come  out  flat-footed,  an'  instead  of  stealing 
rotten  apples  that  the  pigs  has  walked  on,  had  told 
his  trouble  to  the  Great  Head  War  Chief,  that  native- 
born  noble  Red-man  would  'a'  said:  'Sonny,  quite 
right.  When  in  doubt  come  to  Grandpa.  You  want 
to  get  sharp  on  Duck.  Ugh!  Good' — then  he'd  'a' 
took  that  simple  youth  to  Downey's  Hotel  at 
Downey's  Dump  an' there  showed  him  every  kind  o' 
Duck  that  ever  was  born,  an'  all  tagged  an'  labelled. 
Wah  !  I  have  spoken.  " 

And  the  Great  Woodpecker  scowled  ferociously  at 
Guy,  who  was  vainly  searching  his  face  for  a  clue,  not 
sure  but  what  this  whole  thing  was  some  subtle 
mockery.  But  Yan  had  been  on  the  lookout  for 
this.  Sam's  face  throughout  had  shown  nothing 
but  real  and  growing  interest.  The  good  sense  of 
this  last  suggestion  was  evident,  and  the  result  was 
an  expedition  was  formed  at  once  for  Downey's 
Dump,  a  little  town  five  miles  away,  where  the 
railroad  crossed  a  long  bog  on  the  Skagbog  River. 
Here  Downey,  the  contractor,  had  carried  the  rail 
road  dump  across  a  supposed  bottomless  morass, 
and  by  good  luck  had  soon  made  a  bottom  and  in 
consequence  a  small  fortune,  with  which  he  built  a 
hotel,  and  was  now  the  great  man  of  the  town  for 
which  he  had  done  so  much. 


Two  Little  Savages 

"Guess  we'll  leave  the  Third  War  Chief  in  charge 
of  camp,"  said  Sam,  "an'  I  think  we  ought  to  go 
disguised  as  Whites." 

"You  mean  to  go  back  to  the  Settlement  and  join 
the  Whites?" 

"Yep,  an'  take  a  Horse  an'  buggy,  too.  It's  five 
miles.  " 

That  was  a  jarring  note.  Yan's  imagination  had 
pictured  a  foot  expedition  through  the  woods,  but 
this  was  more  sensible,  so  he  yielded. 

They  went  to  the  house  to  report  and  had  a  loving 
reception  from  the  mother  and  little  Minnie.  The 
men  were  away.  The  boys  quickly  harnessed  a 
Horse  and,  charged  also  with  some  commissions  from 
the  mother,  they  drove  to  Downey's  Dump. 

On  arriving  they  went  first  to  the  livery-stable  to 
put  up  the  horse,  then  to  the  store,  where  Sam 
delivered  his  mother's  orders,  and  having  made  sure 
that  Yan  had  pencil,  paper  and  rubber,  they  went  into 
Downey's.  Yan's  feelings  were  much  like  those  of 
a  country  boy  going  for  the  first  time  to  a  circus — 
now  he  is  really  to  see  the  things  he  has  dreamed  of 
so  long;  now  all  heaven  is  his. 

And,  curiously  enough,  he  was  not  disappointed. 
Downey  was  a  rough,  vigorous  business  man.  He 
took  no  notice  of  the  boys  beyond  a  brief  "  Morning, 
Sam,"  till  he  saw  that  Yan  was  making  very  fair 
sketches.  All  the  world  loves  an  artist,  and  now 
there  was  danger  of  too  much  assistance. 

The  cases  could  not  be  opened,  but  were  swung 

39° 

IQ.     Bufflehead  or  Butterball  (Charitonetta  albeola). 

20.  Old-Squaw  or  Longtail  (Harelda.  hyemalis).    This  is  its  winter  plumage,  in  which  it  is  mostly  seen. 

21.  Black  Scoter  (Oidemia  americana).    A  jet-black  Duck  with  orange  bill ;  no  white  on  it  anywhere. 

22.  White-winged  Scoter  (O.  deglandi}.    A  black  Duck  with  white  on  cheek  and  wing;  feet  and  bill  orange; 
much  white  on  wing  shows  as  they  fly,  sometimes  none  as  they  swim. 

23.  Surf  Duck  or  Sea  Coot  (O.  Perspicillata).    A  black  Duck  with  white  on  head,  but  none  on   wings  ;  bill  and 
feet  orange. 

24.  Ruddy  Duck  or  Stiff-tailed  Duck  (Erismaturajamaicensis).     Bill  and  feet  bluish  ;  male  is  in  general  a  dull 
red  with  white  face. 


Red-h:ad 


14.  Canvasback 


15.  Ring-necked  Bluebill 


21,  Black  Scoter 


22.  White-winged  Scoter 

The  Sea  Ducks 


23.  Surf  Duck 


THE  SEA  DUCKS 

Chiefly  black  and  white  in  colour :  the  female  brownish  instead  of  b!ack ;  most  have  yellow  or  orange  eye,  and 
more  or  less  white  on  wings  which  does  not  show  as  they  swim. 

13.  Red-head  (Aythya  timer icana<.     Head  and  neck  bright  red  ;  eye  of  male  yellow,  bill  and  feet  blue. 

14.  Canvasback  (A  .  vallisiieria}.    Head  and  neck  dark-red,  eye  of  male  red,  bill  and  feet  of  both  dark  or  bluish. 

15.  Ring-necked  Bluebill  (A.  collar  ia).     Bill  and  feet  bluish. 

16.  Big  Bluebill  (A  .  inarila).     Bill  and  feet  bluish. 

17.  Little  Bluebill  (A  .  affinis).    Same  colour  as  the  preceding. 

18.  Whistler  or  Goldeneye  (.Clangula  clangula  americana).     Feet  orange. 

(Description  continued  on  page  390.) 


How  Yan  Knew  the  Ducks  Afar 

around  and  shades  raised  to  give  the  best  light.  Yan 
went  at  once  to  the  bird  he  had  ''far-sketched"  on  the 
pond.  To  his  surprise,  it  was  a  female  Wood-duck. 
He  put  in  the  whole  afternoon  drawing  those  Ducks, 
male  and  female,  and  as  Downey  had  more  than 
fifty  specimens  Yan  felt  like  Aladdin  in  the  Fairy 
Garden — overpowered  with  abundance  of  treasure. 
The  birds  were  fairly  well  labelled  with  the  popular 
names,  and  Yan  brought  away  a  lot  of  sketches, 
which  made  him  very  happy.  These  he  afterward 
carefully  finished  and  put  together  in  a  Duck  Chart 
that  solved  many  of  his  riddles  about  the  Common 
Ducks. 

When  they  got  back  to  camp  at  dusk  they  found 
a  surprise.  On  the  trail  was  a  white  thing,  which  on 
investigation  proved  to  be  a  ghost,  evidently  made 
by  Guy.  The  head  was  a  large  puff-ball  carved  like 
a  skull,  and  the  body  a  newspaper. 

But  the  teepee  was  empty.  Guy  probably  felt  too 
much  reaction  after  the  setting  up  of  the  ghost  to  sit 
there  alone  in  the  still  night. 


393 


XVII 
•    Sam's  Woodcraft  Exploit 

SAM'S  "long  suit,"  as  he  put  it,  was  axemanship. 
He  was  remarkable  even  in  this  land  of  the  axe, 
and,  of  course,  among  the  "Injuns"  he  was  a 
marvel.  Yan  might  pound  away  for  half  an  hour  at 
some  block  that  he  was  trying  to  split  and  make  no 
headway,  till  Sam  would  say,  "Yan,  hit  it  right  there," 
or  perhaps  take  the  axe  and  do  it  for  him ;  then  at 
one  tap  the  block  would  fly  apart.  There  was  no  rule 
for  this  happy  hit.  Sometimes  it  was  above  the 
binding  knot,  sometimes  beside  it,  sometimes  right 
in  the  middle  of  it,  and  sometimes  in  the  end  of  the 
wood  away  from  the  binder  altogether — often  at 
the  uiilikeliest  places.  Sometimes  it  was  done  by  a 
simple  stroke,  sometimes  a  glancing  stroke,  sometimes 
with  the  grain  or  again  angling,  and  sometimes  a 
compound  of  one  or  more  of  each  kind  of  blow ;  but 
whatever  was  the  right  stroke,  Sam  seemed  to  know 
it  instinctively  and  applied  it  to  exactly  the  right 
spot,  the  only  spot  where  the  hard,  tough  log  was 
open  to  attack,  and  rarely  failed  to  make  it  tumble 
apart  as  though  it  were  a  trick  got  ready  beforehand. 
He  did  not  brag  about  it.  He  simply  took  it  for 
granted  that  he  was  the  master  of  the  art,  and  as 
such  the  others  accepted  him. 

394 


Sam's  Woodcraft  Exploit 

On  one  occasion  Yan,  who  began  to  think  he  now 
had  some  skill,  was  whacking  away  at  a  big,  tough 
stick  till  he  had  tried,  as  he  thought,  every  possible 
combination  and  still  could  make  no  sign  of  a  crack. 
Then  Guy  insisted  on  "showing  him  how,"  without 
any  better  result. 

"Here,  Sam,"  cried  Yan,  "I'll  bet  this  is  a  baffler 
for  you." 

Sam  turned  the  stick  over,  selected  a  hopeless- 
looking  spot,  one  as  yet  not  touched  by  the  axe, 
set  the  stick  on  end,  poured  a  cup  of  water  on 
the  place,  then,  when  that  had  soaked  in,  he 
struck  with  all  his  force  a  single  straight  blow  at 
the  line  where  the  grain  spread  to  embrace  the 
knot.  The  aim  was  true  to  a  hair  and  the  block 
flew  open. 

"Hooray!"  shouted   Little   Beaver  in  admiration. 

"Pooh!"  said  Sapwood.  "That  was  just  chance. 
He  couldn't  do  that  again." 

"Not  to  the  same  stick!"  retorted  Yan.  He 
recognized  the  consummate  skill  and  the  cleverness 
of  knowing  that  the  cup  of  water  was  just  what  was 
needed  to  rob  the  wood  of  its  spring  and  turn  the 
balance. 

But  Guy  continued  contemptuously,  "  I  had  it 
started  for  him." 

"7  think  that  should  count  a  coup,"  said  Little 
Beaver. 

"Coup  nothin',"  snorted  the  Third  War  Chief, 
in  scorn.  "I'll  give  you  something  to  do  that'll  try 

395 


Two  Little  Savages 


-->' 


if  you  can  chop.  Kin  you  chop  a  six-inch  tree  down 
in  three  minutes  an'  throw  it  up  the  wind  ?" 

"What  kind  o'    tree?"     asked    the    Woodpecker. 

"Oh,  any  kind.'.' 

"I'll  bet  you  five  dollars  I  kin  cut  down  a  six- 
inch  White  Pine  in  two  minutes  an'  throw  it  any  way 
I  want  to.  You  pick  out  the  spot  for  me  to  lay  it. 
Mark  it  with  a  stake  an'  I'll  drive  the  stake." 

"I  don't  think  any  of  the  Tribe  has  five  dollars  to 
bet.  If  you  can  do  it  we'll  give  you  a  grand  coup 
feather,"  answered  Little  Beaver. 

"No  spring  pole,"  said  Guy,  eager  to  make  it 
impossible. 

"All  right,"  replied  the  Woodpecker;  "I'll  do  it 
without  using  a  spring  pole." 

So  he  whetted  up  his  axe,  tried  the  lower  margin 
of  the  head,  found  it  was  a  trifle  out  of  the  true— that 
is,  its  under  curve  centred,  not  on  the  handle  one 
span  down,  but  half  an  inch  out  from  the  handle. 
A  nail  driven  into  the  point  of  the  axe-eye  corrected 
this  and  the  chiefs  went  forth  to  select  a  tree.  A 
White  Pine  that  measured  roughly  six  inches  through 
was  soon  found,  and  Sam  was  allowed  to  clear  away 
the  brush  around  it.  Yan  and  Guy  now  took  a 
stout  stake  and,  standing  close  to  the  tree,  looked  up 
the  trunk.  Of  course,  every  tree  in  the  woods  leans 
one  way  or  another,  and  it  was  easy  to  see  that 
this  leaned  slightly  southward.  What  wind  there 
was  came  from  the  north,  so  Yan  decided  to  set 
the  stake  due  north. 


396 


Sam's  "Woodcraft  Exploit 

Sam's  little  Japanese  eyes  twinkled.  But  Guy, 
who,  of  course,  knew  something  of  chopping,  fairly 
exploded  with  scorn.  "Pooh  !  What  do  you  know? 
That's  easy;  any  one  can  throw  it  straight  up  the 
wind.  Give  him  a  cornering  shot  and  let  him  try. 
There,  now,"  and  Guy  set  the  stake  off  to  the  north 
west.  "Now,  smarty.  Let's  see  you  do  that." 

"All  right.  You'll  see  me.  Just  let  me  look  at  it 
a  minute." 

Sam  walked  round  the  tree,  studied  its  lean 
and  the  force  of  the  wind  on  its  top,  rolled  up  his 
sleeves,  slipped  his  suspenders,  spat  on  his  palms, 
and,  standing  to  west  of  the  tree,  said  "Ready" 

Yan  had  his  watch  out  and  shouted  "Go." 

Two  firm,  unhasty  strokes  up  on  the  south  side 
of  the  tree  left  a  clean  nick  across  and  two  inches 
deep  in  the  middle.  The  chopper  then  stepped 
forward  one  pace  and  on  the  north-northwesterly 
side,  eighteen  inches  lower  down  than  the  first  cut, 
after  reversing  his  hands — which  is  what  few  can  do 
— he  rapidly  chopped  a  butt-kerf.  Not  a  stroke  was 
hasty;  not  a  blow  went  wrong.  The  first  chips 
that  flew  were  ten  inches  long,  but  they  quickly 
dwindled  as  the  kerf  sank  in.  The  butt-kerf  was 
two-thirds  through  the  tree  when  Yan  called  "One 
minute  up."  Sam  stopped  wTork,  apparently  without 
cause,  leaned  one  hand  against  the  south  side  of  the 
tree  and  gazed  unconcernedly  up  at  its  top. 

"Hurry  up,  Sam.  You're  losing  time!"  called 
his  friend.  Sam  made  no  reply.  He  was  watching 

39/ 


Two  Little  Savages 


\ 


the  wind  pushes  and  waiting  for  a  strong  one.  It 
came — it  struck  the  tree-top.  There  was  an  ominous 
crack,  but  Sam  had  left  enough  and  pushed  hard  to 
make  sure ;  as  soon  as  the  recoil  began  he  struck  in 
very  rapid  succession  three  heavy  strokes,  cutting 
away  all  the  remaining  wood  on  the  west  side  and 
leaving  only  a  three-inch  triangle  of  uncut  fibre. 
All  the  weight  was  now  northwest  of  this.  The 
tree  toppled  that  way,  but  swung  around  on  the 
uncut  part;  another  puff  of  wind  gave  help,  the  swing 
was  lost,  the  tree  crashed  down  to  the  northwest  and 
drove  the  stake  right  out  of  sight  in  the  ground. 

"Hooray!  Hooray!  Hooray!  One  minute  and 
forty-five  seconds  !  "  How  Yan  did  cheer.  Sam  was 
silent,  but  his  eyes  looked  a  little  less  dull  and  stupid 
than  usual,  and  Guy  said  "Pooh!  That's  nothin'." 

Yan  took  out  his  pocket  rule  and  went  to  the 
stump.  As  soon  as  he  laid  it  on,  he  exclaimed  "Seven 
and  one-half  inches  through  where  you  cut,"  and  again 
he  had  to  swing  his  hat  and  cheer. 

"Well,  old  man,  you  surely  did  it  that  time.  That's 
a  grand  coup  if  ever  I  saw  one,"  and  so,  notwith 
standing  Guy's  proposal  to  "leave  it  to  Caleb," 
Sam  got  his  grand  Eagle  feather  as  Axeman  Ai  of 
the  Sanger  Indians. 


39* 


XVIII 
The  Owls  and  the  Night-School 

ONE  night  Sam  was  taking  a  last  look  at  the 
stars  before  turning  in.  A  Horned  Owl  had 
been  hooting  not  far  away. 

"  Hoo — hohoo-hoho — hoooooo.' ' 

And  as  he  looked,  what  should  silently  sail  to  the 
top  of  the  medicine  pole  stuck  in  the  ground  twenty 
yards  away  but  the  Owl. 

"  Yan  !  Yan  !  Give  me  my  bow  and  arrow,  quick. 
Here's  a  Cat-Owl — a  chicken  stealer;  he's  fair  game." 

"He's  only  codding  you,  Yan,"  said  Guy  sleepily 
from  his  blanket.  "I  wouldn't  go." 

But  Yan  rushed  out  with  his  own  and  Sam's 
weapons. 

Sam  fired  at  the  great  feathery  creature,  but 
evidently  missed,  for  the  Owl  spread  its  wings  and 
sailed  away. 

"There  goes  my  best  arrow.  That  was  my 
'Sure-death.' ' 

"Pshaw!"  growled  Yan,  as  he  noted  the  miss. 
"You  can't  shoot  a  little  bit." 

But  as  they  stood,  there  was  a  fluttering  of  broad 
wings,  and  there,  alighting  as  before  on  the  medicine 
pole,  was  the  Owl  again. 

"  My  turn  now  !  "  exclaimed  Yan  in  a  gaspy  whisper. 

399 


Two  Little  Savages 

He  drew  his  bow,  the  arrow  flew,  and  the  Owl  slipped 
off  unharmed  as  it  had  the  first  time. 

"Yan,  you're  no  good.  An  easy  shot  like  that. 
Why,  any  idiot  could  hit  that.  Why  didn't  you 
fetch  her  ? ' ' 

"  'Cause  I'm  not  an  idiot,  I  suppose.  I  hit  the 
same  place  as  you  did,  anyway,  and  drew  just  as 
much  blood." 

"  Ef  he  conies  back  again  you  call  me,"  piped  Guy 
in  his  shrill  voice.  'Til  show  you  fellers  how  to  shoot. 
You're  no  good  at  all  'thout  me.  Why,  I  mind  the 

time  I  was  Deer-shooting "  but  a  fierce  dash  of 

the  whole  Tribe  for  Sappy 's  bed  put  a  stop  to  the 
reminiscent  flow  and  replaced  it  with  whines  of 
"Now  you  let  me  alone.  I  ain't  doin'  nothin'  to 
you." 

During  the  night  they  were  again  awakened  by 
the  screech  in  the  tree-tops,  and  Yan,  sitting  up, 
said,  "Say,  boys,  that's  nothing  but  that  big  Cat- 
Owl." 

"So  it  is,"  was  Sam's  answer;  "wonder  I  didn't 
think  of  that  before." 

"I  did,"  said  Guy;  "I  knew  it  all  the  time." 

In  the  morning  they  went  out  to  find  their  arrows. 
The  medicine  pole  was  a  tall  pole  bearing  a  feathered 
shield,  with  the  tribal  totem,  a  white  Buffalo,  which 
Yan  had  set  up  to  be  in  Indian  fashion.  Sighting  in 
line  from  the  teepee  over  this,  they  walked  on,  looking 
far  beyond,  for  they  had  learned  always  to  draw  the 
arrow  to  the  head.  They  had  not  gone  twenty-five 


4.00 


The  Owls  and  the  Night-School 

feet  before  Yan  burst  out  in  unutterable  astonish 
ment:  "Look!  Look  at  that — and  that " 

There  on  the  ground  not  ten  feet  apart  were  two 
enormous  Horned  Owls,  both  shot  fairly  through  the 
heart,  one  with  Sam's  "Sure-death"  arrow,  the  other 
with  Yan's  "Whistler";  both  shots  had  been  true, 
and  the  boys  could  only  say,  "Well,  if  you  saw  that 
in  print  you  would  say  it  was  a  big  lie  !"  It  was 
indeed  one  of  those  amazing  things  which  happen 
only  in  real  life,  and  the  whole  of  the  Tribe  with  one 
exception  voted  a  grand  coup  to  each  of  the  hunters. 

Guy  was  utterly  contemptuous.  "They  got  so 
close  they  hit  by  chance  an'  didn't  know  they  done 
it.  If  he  had  been  shooting,"  etc.,  etc.,  etc. 

"How  about  that  screech  in  the  tree-tops,  Guy?" 

"Errrrh." 

What  a  fascination  the  naturalist  always  finds  in 
a  fine  Bird.  Yan  revelled  in  these  two.  He  meas 
ured  their  extent  of  wing  and  the  length  from  beak 
to  tail  of  each.  He  studied  the  pattern  on  their 
quills;  he  was  thrilled  by  their  great  yellow  eyes 
and  their  long,  powerful  claws,  and  he  loved  their 
every  part.  He  hated  to  think  that  in  a  few  days 
these  wonderful  things  would  be  disgusting  and  fit 
only  to  be  buried. 

"I  wish  I  knew  how  to  stuff  them,"  he  said. 

"Why  don't  you  get  Si  Lee  to  show  you,"  was 
Sam's  suggestion.  "Seems  to  me  I  often  seen 
pictures  of  Injun  medicine  men  with  stuffed  birds," 
he  added  shrewdly  and  happily. 

401 


Two  Little  Savages 

"Well,  that's  just  what  I  will  do." 

Then  arose  a  knotty  question.  Should  he  go  to 
Si  Lee  and  thereby  turn  "White"  and  break  the  charm 
of  the  Indian  life,  or  should  he  attempt  the  task  of 
persuading  Si  to  coftie  down  there  to  work  without 
proper  conveniences.  They  voted  to  bring  Si  to 
camp.  "Da  might  think  we  was  backing  out." 
After  all,  the  things  needed  were  easily  carried,  and 
Si,  having  been  ambushed  by  a  scout,  consented  to 
come  and  open  a  night-school  in  taxidermy. 

The  tools  and  things  that  he  brought  were  a 
bundle  of  tow  made  by  unravelling  a  piece  of  rope, 
some  cotton  wool,  strong  linen  thread,  two  long 
darning  needles,  arsenical  soap  worked  up  like 
cream,  corn-meal,  some  soft  iron  wire  about 
size  sixteen  and  some  of  stovepipe  size,  a  file,  a 
pair  of  pliers,  wire  cutters,  a  sharp  knife,  a  pair  of 
stout  scissors,  a  gimlet,  two  ready-made  wooden 
stands,  and  last  of  all  a  good  lamp.  The  boys 
hitherto  had  been  content  with  the  firelight. 

Thus  in  the  forest  teepee  Yan  had  his  first  lesson 
in  the  art  that  was  to  give  him  so  much  joy  and 
some  sorrow  in  the  future. 

Guy  was  interested,  though  scornful;  Sam  was 
much  interested;  Yan  was  simply  rapt,  and  Si  Lee 
was  in  his  glory.  His  rosy  red  cheeks  and  his  round 
figure  swelled  with  pride;  even  his  semi-nude  head 
and  fat,  fumbling  fingers  seemed  to  partake  of  his 
general  elation  and  importance. 

First  he  stuffed  the  Owls'  throats  and  wounds 
with  cotton  wool. 

402 


The  Owls  and  the  Night-School 

Then  he  took  one,  cut  a  slit  from  the  back  of  the 
breast-bone  nearly  to  the  tail  (A  to  B,  Fig.  i,  page 
405),  while  Yan  took  the  other  and  tried  faithfully 
to  follow  his  example. 

He  worked  the  skin  from  the  body  chiefly  by  the 
use  of  his  finger  nails,  till  he  could  reach  the  knee  of 
each  leg  and  cut  this  through  at  the  joint  with  the 
knife  (Kn,  Fig.  i,  page  405).  The  flesh  was  removed 
from  each  leg-bone  down  to  the  heel-joint  (HI,  HI, 
Fig.  i),  leaving  the  leg  and  skin  as  in  Lg,  Figure  2. 
Then  working  back  on  each  side  of  the  tail,  he  cut 
the  "pope's  nose"  from  the  body  and  left  it  as  part 
of  the  skin,  with  the  tail  feathers  in  it,  and  this,  Si 
explained,  was  a  hard  place  to  get  around.  Sam 
called  it  "rounding  Cape  Horn."  As  the  flesh  was 
exposed  Si  kept  it  powdered  thickly  with  corn-meal, 
and  this  saved  the  feathers  from  soiling. 

Once  around  Cape  Horn  it  was  easy  sailing.  The 
skin  was  rapidly  pushed  off  till  the  wings  were  reached. 
These  were  cut  off  at  the  joint  deep  in  the  breast 
(under  /  /,  Fig.  i,  or  seen  on  the  back,  W  J,  Fig.  2), 
the  first  bone  of  each  wing  was  cleared  of  meat,  and 
the  skin,  now  inside  out  and  well  mealed,  was  pushed 
of!  the  neck  up  to  the  head. 

Here  Si  explained  that  in  most  birds  it  would  slip 
easily  over  the  head,  but  in  Owls,  Woodpeckers, 
Ducks  and  some  others  one  had  sometimes  to  help 
it  by  a  lengthwise  slit  on  the  nape  (Sn,  Fig.  2).  "  Owls 
is  hard,  anyway,"  he  went  on,  "though  not  so  bad 
as  Water-fowl.  If  ye  want  a  real  easy  bird  for  a 

403 


Two  Little  Savages 

starter,  take  a  Robin  or  a  Blackbird,  or  any  land 
Bird  about  that  size  except  Woodpeckers." 

When  the  ears  were  reached  they  were  skinned  and 
pulled  out  of  the  skull  without  cutting,  then,  after 
the  eyes  were  passed,  the  skin  and  body  looked  as 
in  Figure  2.  Now  the  back  of  the  head  with  the  neck 
and  body  was  cut  off  (Ct,  Fig.  2),  and  the  first 
operation  of  the  skinning  was  done. 

Yan  got  along  fairly  well,  tearing  and  cutting  the 
skin  once  or  twice,  but  learning  very  quickly  to 
manage  it. 

Now  began  the  cleaning  of  the  skin. 

The  eyes  were  cut  clean  out  and  the  brains  and 
flesh  carefully  scraped  away  from  the  skull. 

The  wing  bones  were  already  cleaned  of  meat 
down  to  the  elbow  joint,  where  the  big  quill  feathers 
began,  and  the  rest  of  the  wing  had  to  be  cleared  of 
flesh  by  cutting  open  the  under  side  of  the  next  joint 
(H  to  El,  Fig.  i).  The  "pope's  nose"  and  the  skin 
generally  was  freed  from  meat  and  grease  by  scrap 
ing  with  a  knife  and  rubbing  with  the  meal. 

Then  came  the  poisoning.  Every  part  of  the  bones 
and  flesh  had  to  be  painted  with  the  creamy  arsenical 
soap,  then  the  head  was  worked  back  into  its  place 
and  the  skin  turned  right  side  out. 

When  this  was  done  it  was  quite  late.  Guy  was 
asleep,  Sam  was  nearly  so,  and  Yan  was  thoroughly 
tired  out. 

"Guess  I'll  go  now,"  said  Si.  "Them  skins  is  in 
good  shape  to  keep,  only  don't  let  them  dry, "  so  they 

404 

OWL-STUFFING  PLATE  (Page  408) 

Fig-,  i.  The  dead  Owl,  showing:  the  cuts  made  in  skinning  it :  A  to  B,  for  the  body  ;  El  to  H,  on  each  wing,  to 
remove  the  meat  of  the  second  joint. 

Fig.  2.  After  the  skinning  is  done  the  skull  remains  attached  to  the  skin,  which  is  now  inside  out,  the  neck  and 
body  are  cut  off  at  Ct.  Sn  to  Sn  shows  the  slit  in  the  nape  needed  for  Owls  and  several  other  kinds. 

Fig.    3.     Top  view  of  the  tow  body,  neck  end  up,  and  neck  wire  projecting. 

Fig.    4.     Side  view  of  the  tow  body,  with  the  neck  wire  put  through  it ;  the  tail  end  is  downward. 

Fig.    5.     The  heavy  iron  wire  for  neck. 

Fig.  6.  The  Owl  after  the  body  is  put  in  ;  it  is  now  ready  to  close  up,  by  stitching  up  the  slit  on  the  nape,  the 
body  slit  B  to  C  and  the  two  wing  slits  El  to  H,  on  each  wing. 

Fig.  7.  A  dummy  as  it  would  look  if  all  the  feathers  were  off  ;  this  shows  the  proper  position  I9r  legs  and  wings 
on  the  body.  At  W  is  a  glimpse  of  the  leg  wire  entering  the  body  at  the  middle  of  the  side. 

Fig.  8.  Another  view  of  the  body  without  feathers  ;  the  dotted  lines  show  the  wires  of  the  legs  through  the  hard 
body,  and  the  neck  wire. 

Fig.  9.  Two  views  of  one  of  the  wooden  .eyes  ;  these  are  on  a  much  larger  scale  than  the  rest  of  the  figures  in 
this  plate. 

Fig.  10.  The  finished  Owl,  with  the  thread  wrappings  on  and  the  wires  still  projecting  ;  Nw  is  end  of  the  neck- 
wire  ;  Bp  is  back-pin— that  is,  the  wire  in  the  center  of  the  back  ;  Ww  and  Ww  are  the  wing  wires  ;  Tl  are 
the  cards  pinned  on  the  tail  to  hold  it  flat  while  it  dries.  The  last  operation  is  to  remove  the  threads  and 
cut  all  these  wires  off  close  so  that  the  feathers  hide  what  remains. 


Owl-stuffing  plate 

(See  description  on  pages  403  and  404) 


The  Owls  and  the  Night-School 

were  wrapped  up  in  a  damp  sack  and  put  away  in  a 
tin  till  next  night,  when  Si  promised  to  return  and 
finish  the  course  in  one  more  lesson. 

While  they  were  so  working  Sam  had  busied  him 
self  opening  the  Owls'  stomachs — "looking  up  their 
records,"  as  he  called  it.  He  now  reported  that  one 
had  lynched  a  young  Partridge  and  the  other  had 
killed  a  Rabbit  for  its  latest  meal. 

Next  night  Si  Lee  came  as  promised,  but  brought 
bad  news.  He  had  failed  to  find  the  glass  Owl  eyes 
he  had  hoped  were  in  his  trunk.  His  ingenuity,  how 
ever,  was  of  the  kind  that  is  never  balked  in  a  small 
matter.  He  produced  some  black  and  yellow  oil 
paints,  explaining,  "Guess  we'll  make  wooden  eyes 
do  for  the  present,  an'  when  you  get  to  town  you  can 
put  glass  ones  in  their  place."  So  Sam  was  set  to 
work  whittling  four  wooden  eyes  the  shape  of  well- 
raised  buns  and  about  three-quarters  of  an  inch 
across.  When  whittled,  scraped  and  smooth,  Si 
painted  them  brilliant  yellow  with  a  central  black 
spot  and  put  them  away  to  dry  (shown  on  a  large 
scale  on  page  405,  Fig.  9,  a  and  6). 

Meanwhile,  he  and  Yan  got  out  the  two  skins. 
The  bloody  feathers  on  the  breasts  were  washed 
clean  in  a  cup  of  warm  water,  then  dried  with  cotton 
and  dusted  all  over  with  meal  to  soak  up  any  moisture 
left.  The  leg  and  wing  bones  were  now  wrapped 
with  as  much  tow  as  would  take  the  place  of  the 
removed  meat.  The  eye  sockets  were  partly  filled 
with  cotton,  then  a  long  soft  roll  of  tow  about  the 

407 


Two  Little  Savages 

length  and  thickness  of  the  original  neck  was  worked 
up  into  the  neck  skin  and  into  the  skull  and  left  hang 
ing.  The  ends  of  the  two  wing  bones  were  fastened 
two  inches  apart  with  a  shackle  of  strong  string  (X, 
Fig.  2  and  Fig.  7).  "Now  the  body  was  needed. 

For  this  Si  rolled  and  lashed  a  wad  of  tow  with 
strong  thread  until  he  made  a  dummy  of  the  same 
size  and  shape  as  the  body  taken  out,  squeezing  and 
sewing  it  into  a  hard  solid  mass.  Next  he  cut  about 
two  and  a  half  feet  of  the  large  wire,  filed  both  ends 
sharp,  doubled  about  four  inches  of  one  end  back  in 
a  hook  (Fig.  5),  then  drove  the  long  end  through 
the  tow  body  from  the  tail  end  out  where  the  neck 
should  join  on  (Figs.  3  and  4).  This  was  driven  well 
in  so  that  the  short  end  of  the  hook  was  buried  out 
of  sight.  Now  Si  passed  the  projecting  ends  of  the 
long  wire  up  the  neck  in  the  middle  of  the  tow  roll 
or  neck  already  there,  worked  it  through  the  skull 
and  out  at  the  top  of  the  Owl's  head,  and  got  the 
tow  body  properly  placed  in  the  skin  with  the 
string  that  bound  the  wing  bones  across  the  back 
(X\  Fig.  7). 

Two  heavy  wires  each  eighteen  inches  long  and 
sharp  at  one  end  were  needed  for  the  legs.  These 
were  worked  up  one  through  the  sole  of  each  foot 
under  the  skin  of  the  leg  behind  (Lw,  Fig.  6),  then 
through  the  tow  body  at  the  middle  of  the  side  (W, 
Fig.  7),  after  which  the  sharp  end  was  bent  with 
pliers  into  a  hook  and  driven  back  into  the  hard  body 
(after  the  manner  of  the  neck  wire,  Fig.  4). 

408 


The  Owls  and  the  Night-School 

Another  wire  was  sharpened  and  driven  through 
the  bones  of  the  tail,  fastening  that  also  to  the  tow 
body  (Tw,  Fig.  7). 

Now  a  little  soft  tow  was  packed  into  places  where 
it  seemed  needed  to  fit  the  skin  on,  and  it  remained 
to  sew  up  the  opening  below  (Be  in  Fig.  6),  the  wing 
slits  (El,  H,  Fig.  6  and  Fig.  i),  and  the  slit  in  the 
nape  (Sn  Sn,  Fig.  2)  with  half  a  dozen  stitches,  always 
putting  the  needle  into  the  skin  from  the  flesh  side. 

The  projecting  wires  of  the  feet  were  put  through 
gimlet  holes  in  the  perch  and  made  firm,  and  Si's 
Owls  were  ready  for  their  positions.  They  were  now 
the  most  ridiculous  looking  things  imaginable,  wings 
floppy,  heads  hanging. 

"  Here  is  where  the  artist  comes  in,  "said  Si  proudly, 
conscious  that  this  was  himself.  He  straightened 
up  the  main  line  of  the  body  by  bending  the  leg  wires 
and  set  the  head  right  by  hunching  the  neck  into  the 
shoulders.  "  An  Owl  always  looks  over  its  shoulder,  " 
he  explained,  but  took  no  notice  of  Sam's  query  as 
to  "  whose  shoulder  he  expected  it  to  look  over.  "  He 
set  two  toes  of  each  foot  forward  on  the  perch  and  two 
back  to  please  Yan,  who  insisted  that  that  was  Owly, 
though  Si  had  his  doubts.  He  spread  the  tail  a  little 
by  pinning  it  between  two  pieces  of  card  (77,  Fig.  10), 
gave  it  the  proper  slant,  and  now  had  the  wings  to 
arrange. 

They  were  drooping  like  those  of  a  clucking  hen. 
A  sharp  wire  of  the  small  size  was  driven  into  the 
bend  of  each  wing  (0,  Fig.  7),  nailing  it  in  effect  to 


409 


Two  Little  Savages 

the  body  (Ww  and  Ww,  Fig.  10).  A  long  pin  was 
set  in  the  middle  of  the  back  (Bp,  Fig.  10),  then  using 
these  with  the  wing  wires  and  head  wire  as  lashing 
points,  Si  wrapped  the  whole  bird  with  the  thread 
(Fig.  10),  putting 'a  wad  of  cotton  here  or  a  bit  of 
stick  there  under  the  wrapping  till  he  had  the  position 
and  "feathering"  perfect,  as  he  put  it. 

"We  can  put  in  the  eyes  now,"  said  he,  "or  later, 
if  we  soften  the  skin  around  the  eye-sockets  by  putting 
wet  cotton  in  them  for  twenty-four  hours. " 

Yan  had  carefully  copied  Si's  method  with  the 
second  Owl,  and  developed  unusual  quickness  at  it. 

His  teacher  remarked,  "Wall,  I  larned  lots  o' 
fellows  to  stuff  birds,  but  you  ketch  on  the  quickest 
I  ever  seen. " 

Si's  ideas  of  perfection  might  differ  from  those  of  a 
trained  taxidermist;  indeed,  these  same  Owls  afforded 
Yan  no  little  amusement  in  later  years,  but  for  the 
present  they  were  an  unmitigated  joy. 

They  were  just  the  same  in  position.  Si  knew  only 
one ;  all  his  birds  had  that.  But  when  they  had  dried 
fully,  had  their  wrappings  removed,  the  wires  cut 
off  flush  and  received  the  finishing  glory  of  their 
wooden  eyes,  they  were  a  source  of  joy  and  wonder 
to  the  whole  Tribe  of  Indians. 


410 


XIX 
The  Trial  of  Grit 

THE  boys  had  made  war  bonnets  after  the  "  really 
truly  "  Indian  style  learned  from  Caleb.  White 
Turkey  tail-feathers  and  white  Goose  wing- 
feathers  dyed  black  at  the  tips  made  good  Eagle 
feathers.  Some  wisps  of  red-dyed  horsehair  from 
an  old  harness  tassel ;  strips  of  red  flannel  from  an 
old  shirt,  and  some  scraps  of  sheepskin  supplied 
the  remaining  raw  material.  Caleb  took  an 
increasing  interest,  and  helped  them  not  only  to 
make  the  bonnet,  but  also  to  decide  on  what  things 
should  count  coup  and  what  grand  coup.  Sam  had 
a  number  of  feathers  for  shooting,  diving,  "massa- 
creeing  the  Whites,"  and  his  grand  tufted  feathers  for 
felling  the  pine  and  shooting  the  Cat-Owl. 

Among  other  things,  Yan  had  counted  coup  for 
trailing.  The  Deer  hunt  had  been  made  still  more 
real  by  having  the  "  Deer-boy  "  wear  a  pair  of  sandals 
made  from  old  boots ;  on  the  sole  of  each  they  put  two 
lines  of  hobnails  in  V  shape,  pointing  forward.  These 
made  hoof  like  marks  wherever  the  Deer  went.  One 
of  the  difficulties  with  the  corn  was  that  it  gave  no 
clue  to  the  direction  or  doubling  of  the  trail,  but  the 
sandals  met  the  trouble,  and  with  a  very  little  corn  to 
help  they  had  an  ideal  trail.  All  became  very  expert, 


411 


Two  Little  Savages 


and  could  follow  fast  a  very  slight  track,  but  Yan  con 
tinued  the  best,  for  what  he  lacked  in  eyesight  he 
more  than  made  up  in  patience  and  observation. 
He  already  had  a  grand  coup  for  finding  and  shooting 
the  Deer  in  the  heart,  that  time,  at  first  shot  before 
the  others  came  tip  even,  and  had  won  six  other 
grand  coups — one  for  swimming  200  yards  in  five 
minutes,  one  for  walking  four  measured  miles  in  one 
hour,  one  for  running  100  yards  in  twelve  seconds, 
one  for  knowing  100  wild  plants,  one  for  knowing  100 
birds,  and  the  one  for  shooting  the  Horned  Owl. 

Guy  had  several  good  coups,  chiefly  for  eyesight. 
He  could  see  "the  papoose  on  the  squaw's  back," 
and  in  the  Deer  hunt  he  had  several  times  won  coups 
that  came  near  being  called  grand  coup,  but  so  far 
fate  was  against  him,  and  even  old  Caleb,  who  was 
partial  to  him,  could  not  fairly  vote  him  a  grand 
coup. 

"What  is  it  that  the  Injuns  most  likes  in  a  man:  I 
mean,  what  would  they  druther  have,  Caleb?"  asked 
Sappy  one  day,  confidently  expecting  to  have  his 
keen  eyesight  praised. 

"Bravery,"  was  the  reply.  "They  don't  care 
what  a  man  is  if  he's  brave.  That's  their  greatest 
thing — that  is/ if  the  feller  has  the  stuff  to  back  it  up. 
An'  it  ain't  confined  to  Injuns;  I  tell  you  there  ain't 
anything  that  anybody  goes  on  so  much.  Some  men 
pretends  to  think  one  thing  the  best  of  all,  an'  some 
another,  but  come  right  down  to  it,  what  every  man, 


412 


The  Trial  of  Grit 

woman  an'  child  in  the  country  loves  an'  worships 
is  pluck,  clear  grit,  well  backed  up. " 

"HYiV.  /  tell  >vn,"  said  Guy,  boiling  up  with 
enthusiasm  at  this  glorification  of  grit,  "/  ain't 
scared  o'  nothin*. " 

'  Wall,  how'd  you  like  to  fight  Yan  there?" 

"Oh,  that  ain't  fair.  He's  older  an*  bigger 'n 
I  am." 

"Say,  Sappy,  I'll  give  you  one.  Suppose  you  go 
to  the  orchard  alone  an'  get  a  pail  of  cherries.  All 
the  men '11  be  away  at  nine  o'clock. " 

"  Yes,  and  have  old  Cap  chaw  me  up. " 

"Thought  you  weren't  scared  of  anything,  an'  a 
poor  little  Dog  smaller  than  a  yearling  Heifer  scares 
you." 

"Well,  I  don't  like  cherries,  anyhow." 

"Here,  now,  Guy,  I'll  give  you  a  real  test.  You 
see  that  stone?"  and  Caleb  held  up  a  small  round 
stone  with  a  hole  in  it.  "Xow,  you  know  where  old 
Garney  is  buried  ?  " 

Garney  was  a  dissolute  soldier  who  blew  his 
head  off,  accidentally,  his  friends  claimed,  and  he 
was  buried  on  what  was  supposed  to  be  his  own  land 
just  north  of  Raften's,but  it  afterward  proved  to  be 
part  of  the  highway  where  a  sidepath  joined  in,  and 
in  spite  of  its  diggers  the  grave  was  at  the  crossing 
of  two  roads.  Thus  by  the  hand  of  fate  Bill  Garney 
was  stamped  as  a  suicide. 

The  legend  was  that  every  time  a  wagon  went  over 
his  head  he  must  groan,  but  unwilling  to  waste  those 


Two  Little  Savages 

outcries  during  the  rumbling  of  the  wheels,  he  waited 
till  midnight  and  rolled  them  out  all  together.  Any 
one  hearing  should  make  a  sympathetic  reply  or 
they  would  surely  suffer  some  dreadful  fate.  This 
was  the  legend  that  Caleb  called  up  to  memory  and 
made  very  impressive  by  being  properly  impressed 
himself. 

"Now,"  said  he,  "I  am  going  to  hide  this  stone 
just  behind  the  rock  that  marks  the  head  of  Garney's 
grave,  an'  I'll  send  you  to  git  it  some  night.  Air  ye 
game?" 

" Y-e-s,  I'll  go,"  said  the  Third  War  Chief  without 
visible  enthusiasm. 

"  If  he's  so  keen  for  it  now,  there'll  be  no  holding 
him  back  when  night  comes,"  remarked  the  Wood 
pecker. 

"Remember,  now,"  said  Caleb,  as  he  left  them  to 
return  to  his  own  miserable  shanty,  "  this  is  the  chance 
to  show  what  you're  made  of.  I'll  tie  a  cord  to  the 
stone  to  make  sure  that  you  get  it. " 

"We're  just  going  to  eat.  Won't  you  stay  and 
jine  with  us,"  called  Sam,  but  Caleb  strode  off  with 
out  taking  notice  of  the  invitation. 

In  the  middle  of  the  night  the  boys  were  aroused 
by  a  man's  voice  outside  and  the  scratching  of  a  stick 
on  the  canvas. 

"  Boys  !     Guy— Yan  !     Oh,  Guy  ! " 

"Hello!     Who  is  it?" 

"  Caleb  Clark  !  Say,  Guy,  it's  about  half -past  eleven 
now.  You  have  just  about  time  to  go  to  Garney's 

414 


The  Trial  of  Grit 

grave  by  midnight  an'  get  that  stone,  and  if  you 
can't  find  the  exact  spot  you  listen  for  the  groaning 
— that'll  guide  yon." 

This  cheerful  information  was  given  in  a  hoarse 
whisper  that  somehow  conveyed  the  idea  that  the 
old  man  was  as  scared  as  he  could  be. 

"I — I — I — "  stammered  Guy,  "I  can't  see  the 
way. " 

"This  is  the  chance  of  your  life,  boy.  You  get 
that  stone  and  you'll  get  a  grand  coup  feather,  top 
honours  fur  grit.  I'll  wait  here  till  you  come  back. " 

"  I — I — can't  find  the  blamed  old  thing  on  such  a 
dark  night.  I — I — ain't  goin'.  " 

"Errr — you're  scared,"  whispered  Caleb. 

"I  ain't  scared,  on'y  what's  the  use  of  goin' 
when  I  couldn't  find  the  place?  I'll  go  when  it's 
moonlight. " 

"  Err — anybody  here  brave  enough  to  go  after 
that  stone  ?" 

"I'll  go,"  said  the  other  two  at  the  same  time, 
though  with  a  certain  air  of  "But  I  hope  I  don't 
have  to,  all  the  same." 

"You  kin  have  the  honour,  Yan,"  said  the  Wood 
pecker,  with  evident  relief. 

"  Of  course,  I'd  like  the  chance — but — but — I  don't 
want  to  push  ahead  of  you — you're  the  oldest;  that 
wouldn't  be  square,"  was  the  reply. 

"  Guess  we'd  better  draw  straws  for  it. " 

So  Sam  sought  a  long  straw  while  Yan  stirred  up 
the  coals  to  a  blaze.  The  long  straw  was  broken 


Two  Little  Savages 

in  two  unequal  pieces  and  hidden  in  Sam's  hand. 
Then  after  shuffling  he  held  it  toward  Yan,  showing 
only  the  two  tips,  and  said,  "Longest  straw  takes 
the  job."  Yan  knew  from  old  experience  that  a 
common  trick  was  to  let  the  shortest  straw  stick  out 
farthest,  so  he  took  the  other,  drew  it  slowly  out  and 
out — it  seemed  endless.  Sam  opened  his  hand  and 
showed  that  the  short  straw  remained,  then  added 
with  evident  relief:  "  You  got  it.  You  are  the  luckiest 
feller  I  ever  did  see.  Everything  comes  your  way." 

If  there  had  been  any  loophole  Yan  would  have 
taken  it,  but  it  was  now  clearly  his  duty  to  go  for 
that  stone.  It  was  pride  rather  than  courage  that 
carried  him  through.  He  dressed  quietly  and  nerv 
ously;  his  hands  trembled  a  little  as  he  laced  his 
shoes.  Caleb  waited  outside  when  he  heard  that 
it  was  Yan  who  was  going.  He  braced  him  up  by 
telling  him:  "  You're  the  stuff.  I  jest  love  to  see  grit. 
I'll  go  with  you  to  the  edge  of  the  woods — 'twouldn't 
be  fair  to  go  farther — and  wait  there  till  you  come 
back.  It's  easy  to  find.  Go  four  panels  of  fence 
past  the  little  Elm,  then  right  across  on  the  other  side 
of  the  road  is  the  big  stone.  Well,  on  the  side  next 
the  north  fence  you'll  find  the  ring  pebble.  The 
coord  is  lying  kind  o'  cross  the  big  white  stone,  so 
you'll  find  it  easy;  and  here,  take  this  chalk;  if  your 
grit  gives  out,  you  mark  on  the  fence  how  far  you 
did  get,  but  don't  you  worry  about  that  groaning — 
it's  nothing  but  a  yarn — don't  be  scairt.  " 

"  I  am  afraid  I  am  scared,  but  still  I'll  go. " 

416 


The  Trial  of  Grit 

"That's  right,"  said  the  Trapper  with  emphasis. 
"  Bravery  ain't  so  much  not  being  scairt  as  going 
ahead  when  you  are  scairt,  showing  that  you  kin 
boss  your  fears." 

So  they  talked  till  they  struck  out  of  the  gloom 
of  the  trees  to  the  comparative  light  of  the  open 
field. 

"It's  just  fifteen  minutes  to  midnight,"  said 
Caleb,  looking  at  his  watch  with  the  light  of  a  match. 
"You'll  make  it  easy.  I'll  wait  here." 

Then  Yan  went  on  alone. 

It  was  a  somber  night,  but  he  felt  his  way  along 
the  field  fence  to  the  line  fence  and  climbed  that  into 
the  road  that  was  visible  as  a  less  intense  darkness 
on  the  black  darkness  of  the  grass.  Yan  walked 
on  up  the  middle  cautiously.  His  heart  beat  violently 
and  his  hands  were  cold.  It  was  a  still  night,  and 
once  or  twice  little  mousey  sounds  in  the  fence  corner 
made  him  start,  but  he  pushed  on.  Suddenly  in  the 
blackness  to  the  right  of  the  road  he  heard  a  loud 
"whisk,"  then  he  caught  sight  of  a  white  thing  that 
chilled  his  blood.  It  was  the  shape  of  a  man  wrapped 
in  white,  but  lacked  a  head,  just  as  the  story  had  it. 
Yan  stood  frozen  to  the  ground.  Then  his  intellect 
came  to  the  rescue  of  his  trembling  body.  "What 
nonsense!  It  must  be  a  white  stone."  But  no,  it 
moved.  Yan  had  a  big  stick  in  his  hand.  He 
shouted:  "Sh,  sh,  sh!"  Again  the  "corpse"  moved. 
Yan  groped  on  the  road  for  some  stones  and  sent 
one  straight  at  the  "white  thing."  He  heard  a 


Two  Little  Savages 

"whooff  "  and  a  rush.  The  "white  thing"  sprang  up 
and  ran  past  him  with  a  clatter  that  told  him  he  had 
been  scared  by  Granny  de  Neuville's  white-faced  cow. 
At  first  the  reaction  made  him  weak  at  the  knees, 
but  that  gave  way  to  a  better  feeling.  If  a  harmless 
old  Cow  could  lie  out  there  all  night,  why  should  he 
fear?  He  went  on  more  quietly  till  he  neared  the 
rise  in  the  road.  He  should  soon  sec  the  little  Elm. 
He  kept  to  the  left  of  the  highway  and  peered  into 
the  gloom,  going  more  slowly.  He  was  not  so  near 
as  he  had  supposed,  and  the  tension  of  the  early  part 
of  the  expedition  was  coming  back  more  than  ever. 
He  wondered  if  he  had  not  passed  the  Elm — should  he 
go  back?  But  no,  he  could  not  bear  the  idea;  that 
would  mean  retreat.  Anyhow,  he  would  put  his  chalk 
mark  here  to  show  how  far  he  did  get.  He  sneaked 
cautiously  toward  the  fence  to  make  it,  then  to  his 
relief  made  out  the  Elm  not  twenty-five  feet  away. 
Once  at  the  tree,  he  counted  off  the  four  panels  west 
ward  and  knew  that  he  was  opposite  the  grave  of  the 
suicide.  It  must  now  be  nearly  midnight.  He 
thought  he  heard  sounds  not  far  away,  and  there 
across  the  road  he  saw  a  whitish  thing — the  head 
stone.  He  was  greatly  agitated  as  he  crawled  quietly 
as  possible  toward  it.  Why  quietly  he  did  not  know. 
He  stumbled  through  the  mud  of  the  shallow  ditch 
at  each  side,  reached  the  white  stone,  and  groped 
with  clammy,  cold  hands  over  the  surface  for  the 
string.  If  Caleb  had  put  it  there  it  was  gone  now. 
So  he  took  his  chalk  and  wrote  on  the  stone  "Yan. " 

418 


The  Trial  of  Grit 

Oh,  what  a  scraping  that  chalk  made  !  He  searched 
about  with  his  fingers  around  the  big  boulder.  Yes, 
there  it  was;  the  wind,  no  doubt,  had  blown  it  off- 
He  pulled  it  toward  him.  The  pebble  was  drawn 
across  the  boulder  with  another  and  louder  rasping 
that  sounded  fearfully  in  the  night.  Then  at  once 
a  gasp,  a  scuffle,  a  rush,  a  splash  of  something  in  mud, 
or  water — horrible  sounds  of  a  being  choking,  strang 
ling  or  trying  to  speak.  For  a  moment  Yan  sank 
down  in  terror.  His  lips  refused  to  move.  But  the 
remembrance  of  the  cow  came  to  help  him.  He 
got  up  and  ran  down  the  road  as  fast  as  he  could  go, 
a  cold  sweat  on  him.  He  ran  so  blindly  he  almost 
ran  into  a  man  who  shouted  "  Ho,  Yan ;  is  that  you  ? " 
It  was  Caleb  coming  to  meet  him.  Yan  could  not 
speak.  He  was  trembling  so  violently  that  he  had 
to  cling  to  the  Trapper's  arm. 

"What  was  it,  boy  ?     I  heard  it,  but  what  was  it  ? " 

"I — I — don't  know,"  he  gasped;  "only  it  was  at 
the  g-g-grave." 

"Gosh!  I  heard  it,  all  right,"  and  Caleb  showed 
no  little  uneasiness,  but  added,  "We'll  be  back  in 
camp  in  ten  minutes.  " 

He  took  Yan's  trembling  hand  and  led  him  for  a 
little  while,  but  he  was  all  right  when  he  came  to  the 
blazed  trail.  Caleb  stepped  ahead,  groping  in  the 
darkness. 

Yan  now  found  voice  to  say,  "I  got  the  stone  all 
right,  and  I  wrote  my  name  on  the  grave,  too.  " 

"  Good  boy  !  You're  the  stuff  ! "  was  the  admiring 
response. 

419 


Two  Little  Savages 

They  were  very  glad  to  see  that  there  was  a  fire  in 
the  teepee  when  they  drew  near.  At  the  edge  of 
the  clearing  they  gave  a  loud  "  0-hoo — 0-hoo — 
O-hoo-oo,"  the  Owl  cry  that  they  had  adopted  be 
cause  it  is  commonly  used  by  the  Indians  as  a  night 
signal,  and  they  got  the  same  in  reply  from  within. 

"All  right,"  shouted  Caleb;  "he  done  it,  an'  he's 
bully  good  stuff  and  gets  an  uncommon  grand 
coup. " 

"Wish  I  had  gone  now,"  said  Guy.  "I  could  'a' 
done  it  just  as  well  as  Yan. " 

"Well,  go  on  now.  " 

"Oh,  there  ain't  any  stone  to  get  now  for  proof." 

"  You  can  write  your  name  on  the  grave,  as  I  did. " 

"Ah,  that  wouldn't  prove  nothin',"  and  Guy 
dropped  the  subject. 

Yan  did  not  mean  to  tell  his  adventure  that  night, 
but  his  excitement  was  evident,  and  they  soon  got 
it  out  of  him  in  full.  They  were  a  weird-looking 
crowd  as  they  sat  around  the  flickering  fire,  experi 
encing  as  he  told  it  no  small  measure  of  the  scare 
he  had  just  been  through. 

When  he  had  finished  Yan  said,  "Now,  Guy,  don't 
you  want  to  go  and  try  it  ? " 

"Oh,  quit,"  said  Guy;  "I  never  saw  such  a  feller 
as  you  for  yammering  away  on  the  same  subjek. " 

Caleb  looked  at  his  watch  now,  as  though  about  to 
leave,  when  Yan  said: 

"Say,  Mr.  Clark,  won't  you  sleep  here?  There's 
lots  o'  room  in  Guy's  bed." 

"Don't  mind  if  I  do,  seein'  it's  late. " 
420 


XX 

The  White  Revolver  .    *• 

^» 

IN  the  morning  Caleb  had  the  satisfaction  of 
eating  a  breakfast  prepared  by  the  son  of  his 
enemy,  for  Sam  was  cook  that  day. 

The  Great  Woodpecker  expressed  the  thought  of 
the  whole  assembly  when  after  breakfast  he  said: 
"Now  I  want  to  go  and  see  that  grave.  I  believe 
Yan  wrote  his  name  oil  some  old  cow  that  was 
lying  down  and  she  didn't  like  it  and  said  so  out 
loud!" 

They  arrived  at  the  spot  in  a  few  minutes.  Yes, 
there  it  was  plainly  written  on  the  rude  gravestone, 
rather  shaky,  but  perfectly  legible — "Yan." 

"Pretty  poor  writing,"  was  Guy's  remark. 

"Well,  you  sure  done  it!  Good  boy!"  said  Sam 
warmly.  "  Don't  believe  I'd  'a'  had  the  grit." 

"Bet  I  would,"  said  Guy. 

"Here's  where  I  crossed  the  ditch.  See  my  trail 
in  the  mud  ?  Out  there  is  where  I  heard  the  yelling. 
Let's  see  if  ghosts  make  tracks.  Hallo,  what  the 

There  were  the  tracks  in  the  mud  of  a  big  man. 
He  had  sprawled,  falling  on  his  hands  and  knees. 
Here  was  the  print  of  his  hands  several  times,  and 
in  the  mud,  half  hidden,  something  shining — Guy 
saw  it  first  and  picked  it  up.  It  was  a  white-handled 
Colt's  revolver. 

421 


Two  Little  Savages 

"Let's  see  that,"  said  Caleb.  He  wiped  off  the 
mud.  His  eye  kindled.  "That's  my  revolver  that 
was  stole  from  me  'way  back,  time  I  lost  my  clothes 
and  money."  He  looked  it  over  and,  glancing  about, 
seemed  lost  in  thought.  "This  beats  me  !  "  He  shook 
his  head  and  muttered  from  time  to  time,  "This 
beats  me  !  "  There  seemed  nothing  more  of  interest 
to  see,  so  the  boys  turned  homeward. 

On  the  way  back  Caleb  was  evidently  thinking 
hard.  He  walked  in  silence  till  they  got  opposite 
Granny  de  Neuville's  shanty,  which  was  the  nearest 
one  to  the  grave.  At  the  gate  he  turned  and  said: 
"Guess  I'm  going  in  here.  Say,  Yan,  you  didn't 
do  any  of  that  hollering  last  night,  did  you?" 

"No,  sir;  not  a  word.  The  only  sound  I  made 
was  dragging  the  ring-stone  over  the  boulder." 

"Well,  I'll  see  you  at  camp,"  he  said,  and  turned 
in  to  Granny's. 

"The  tap  o'  the  marnin'  to  ye,  an'  may  yer  sowl 
rest  in  pace,"  was  the  cheery  old  woman's  greeting. 
"  Come  in — come  in,  Caleb,  an'  set  down.  An'  how 
is  Saryann  an'  Dick?" 

"They  seem  happy  an'  prosperin',"  said  the  old 
man  with  bitterness.  "Say,  Granny,  did  you  ever 
hear  the  story  about  Garney's  grave  out  there  on 
the  road?" 

"For  the  love  av  goodness,  an'  how  is  it  yer  after 
askin'  me  that  now?  Sure  an'  I  heard  the  story 
many  a  time,  an'  I'm  after  hearin'  the  ghost  last 
night,  an'  it's  a-shiverin'  yit  Oi  am." 

422 


The  White  Revolver 

"What  did  you  hear,  Granny?" 

"Och,  an'  it  was  the  most  divilish  yells  iver  let 
out  av  a  soul  in  hell.  Shure  the  Dog  and  the  Cat 
both  av  thim  was  scairt,  and  the  owld  white-faced 
cow  come  a-runnin'  an'  jumped  the  bars  to  get  aff 
av  the  road." 

Here  was  what  Caleb  wanted,  and  he  kept  her  going 
by  his  evident  interest.  After  she  tired  of  providing 
more  realistic  details  of  the  night's  uproar,  Caleb 
deliberately  tapped  another  vintage  of  tittle-tattle  in 
hope  of  further  information  leaking  out. 

"Granny,  did  you  hear  of  a  robbery  last  week 
down  this  side  of  Downey's  Dump?" 

"Shure  an'  I  did  not,"  she  exclaimed,  her  eyes 
ablaze  with  interest — neither  had  Caleb,  for  that 
matter;  but  he  wanted  to  start  the  subject — "An' 
who  was  it  was  robbed?" 

"Don't  know,  unless  it  was  John  Evans's  place." 

"Shure  an'  I  don't  know  him,  but  I  warrant  he 
could  sthand  to  lose.  Shure  an'  it's  when  the  raskils 
come  after  me  an'  Cal  Conner  the  moment  it  was 
talked  around  that  we  had  sold  our  Cow;  then  sez  I, 
it's  gittin'  onraisonable,  an'  them  divils  shorely 
seems  to  know  whin  a  wad  o'  money  passes." 

"That's  the  gospel  truth.  But  when  wuz  you 
robbed,  Granny?" 

"Robbed?  I  didn't  say  I  wuz  robbed,"  and 
she  cackled.  "But  the  robbers  had  the  best  av 
intintions  when  they  came  to  me,"  and  she  related 
at  length  her  experience  with  the  two  who  broke  in 

423 


Two  Little  Savages 

when  her  Cow  was  reported  sold.  She  laughed  over 
their  enjoyment  of  the  Lung  Balm,  and  briefly  told 
how  the  big  man  was  sulky  and  the  short,  broad 
one  was  funny.  Their  black  beards,  the  "big  wan" 
with  his  wounded  head,  his  left-handedness  and  his 
accidental  exposure  of  the  three  fingers  of  the  right 
hand,  all  were  fully  talked  over. 

"When  was  it,  Granny?" 

"Och,  shure  an'  it  wuz  about  three  years  apast." 

Then  after  having  had  his  lungs  treated,  old  Caleb 
left  Granny  and  set  out  to  do  some  very  hard  thinking. 

There  had  been  robberies  all  around  for  the  last 
four  years.  There  was  no  clue  but  this:  They 
were  all  of  the  same  character;  nothing  but  cash 
was  taken,  and  the  burglars  seemed  to  have  inside 
knowledge  of  the  neighbourhood,  and  timed  all  their 
visits  to  happen  just  after  the  householder  had  come 
into  possession  of  a  roll  of  bills. 

As  soon  as  Caleb  turned  in  at  the  de  Neuville 
gate,  Yan,  acting  on  a  belated  thought,  said: 

"Boys,  you  go  on  to  camp;  I'll  be  after  you  in 
five  minutes.  He  wanted  to  draw  those  tracks  in 
the  mud  and  try  to  trail  that  man,  so  went  back  to 
the  grave. 

He  studied  the  marks  most  carefully  and  by  open 
ing  out  the  book  he  was  able  to  draw  the  boot  tracks 
life-size,  noting  that  each  had  three  rows  of  small 
hobnails  on  the  heel,  apparently  put  in  at  home 
because  so  irregular,  while  the  sole  of  the  left  was 
worn  into  a  hole.  Then  he  studied  the  hand  tracks, 


424 


ft 

The  White  Revolver  |\  \  'i    €* 


selected    the    clearest,  and    was    drawing    the    right  \  *z 

hand  when  something  odd  caught  his  attention. 
Yes  !  It  appeared  in  all  the  impressions  of  that 
hand  —  the  middle  finger  was  gone. 

Yan  followed  the  track  on  the  road  a  little  way, 
but  at  the  corner  it  turned  southward  and  was  lost 
in  the  grass. 

As  he  was  going  back  to  camp  he  overtook  Caleb 
also  returning. 

"Mr.  Clark,"  he  said.  "I  went  back  to  sketch 
those  tracks,  and  do  you  know  —  that  man  had  only 
three  fingers  on  his  right  hand?" 

"Consarn  me  !"  said  Caleb.     "Are  you  sure?  " 

"Come  and  see  for  yourself." 

Yes  !  It  surely  was  true,  and  Caleb  on  the  road 
back  said..  "  Yan,  don't  say  a  word  of  this  to  the  others 
just  now." 

The  old  Trapper  went  to  the  Pogue  house  at  once. 
He  found  the  tracks  repeated  in  the  dust  near  the 
door,  but  they  certainly  were  not  made  by  Dick. 
On  a  line  was  a  pair  of  muddy  trousers  drying. 

From  this  night  Yan  went  up  and  Guy  went  down 
in  the  old  man's  opinion,  for  he  spoke  his  own  mind 
that  day  when  he  gave  first  place  to  grit.  He 
invited  Yan  to  come  to  his  shanty  to  see  a  pair  of 
snow-shoes  he  was  making.  The  invitation  was  vague 
and  general,  so  the  whole  Tribe  accepted.  Yan  had 
not  been  there  since  his  first  visit.  The  first  part 
of  their  call  was  as  before.  In  answer  to  their 
knock  there  was  a  loud  baying  from  the  Hound, 

425 


Two  Little  Savages 

then  a  voice  ordering  him  back.  Caleb  opened  the 
door,  but  now  said"  Step  in."  If  he  was  displeased 
with  the  others  coming  he  kept  it  to  himself.  While 
Yan  was  looking  at,  the  snow-shoes  Guy  discovered 
something  much  more  interesting  on  the  old  man's 
bunk;  that  was  the  white  revolver,  now  cleaned  up 
and  in  perfect  order.  Caleb's  delight  at  its  recovery, 
though  not  very  apparent,  was  boundless.  He  had 
not  been  able  to  buy  himself  another,  and  this  was 
as  warmly  welcomed  back  as  though  a  long-lost 
only  child. 

"Say,  Caleb,  let's  try  a  shot.  I  bet  I  kin  beat  the 
hull  gang,"  exclaimed  Sapwood. 

Caleb  got  some  cartridges  and  pointed  to  a  white 
blaze  on  a  stump  forty  yards  away.  Guy  had  three 
or  four  shots  and  Yan  had  the  same  without  hitting 
the  stump.  Then  Caleb  said,  "  Lemme  show  you." 

His  big  rugged  hand  seemed  to  swallow  up  the 
little  gun-stock.  His  long  knobbed  finger  fitted 
around  the  lock  in  a  strange  but  familiar  way.  Caleb 
was  a  bent-arm  shot,  and  the  short  barrel  looked  like 
his  own  forefinger  pointing  at  the  target  as  he  pumped 
away  six  times  in  quick  succession.  All  went  into 
the  blaze  and  two  into  the  charcoal  spot  that  marked 
the  centre. 

"  By  George  !  Look  at  that  for  shooting  !  "  and  the 
boys  were  loud  in  their  praise. 

"Well,  twenty  year  ago  I  used  to  be  a  pretty  good 
shot,"  Caleb  proceeded  to  explain  with  an  air  of 
unnecessary  humility  and  a  very  genial  expression 

426 


The  White  Revolver 

on  his  face.  "But  that's  dead  easy.  I'll  show  you 
some  real  tricks." 

Twenty -five  feet  away  he  set  up  three  cartridges  in 
a  row,  their  caps  toward  him,  and  exploded  them  in 
succession  with  three  rapid  shots.  Then  he  put  the 
revolver  in  the  side  pocket  of  his  coat,  and  recklessly 
firing  it  without  drawing,  much  less  sighting  or  even 
showing  it,  he  peppered  a  white  blaze  at  twenty 
yards.  Finally  he  looked  around  for  an  old  fruit 
tin.  Then  he  cocked  the  revolver,  laid  it  across  his 
right  hand  next  the  thumb  and  the  tin  across  the 
fingers.  He  then  threw  them  both  in  the  air  with  a 
jerk  that  sent  the  revolver  up  ten  feet  and  the  tin 
twenty.  As  the  revolver  came  down  he  seized  it  and 
shot  a  hole  through  the  tin  before  it  could  reach  the 
ground. 

The  boys  were  simply  dumbfounded.  They  had 
used  up  all  their  exclamations  on  the  first  simple 
target  trial. 

Caleb  stepped  into  the  shanty  to  get  a  cleaning- 
rag  for  his  darling,  and  Sam  burst  out: 

"Well,  now  I  know  he  never  shot  at  Da,  for  if  he 
did  he'd  'a'  got  him  sure." 

It  was  not  meant  for  Caleb's  ears,  but  it  reached 
him,  and  the  old  Trapper  came  to  the  door  at  once 
with  a  long,  expressive  "H-m-m-mrr." 

Thus  was  broken  the  dam  of  silent  scorn,  for  it 
was  the  first  time  Caleb  had  addressed  himself  to 
Sam.  The  flood  had  forced  the  barrier,  but  it  still 
left  plenty  of  stuff  in  the  channel  to  be  washed  away 

427 


Two  Little  Savages 

by  time  and  wear,  and  it  was  long  before  he  talked 
to  Sam  as  freely  as  to  the  others,  but  still  in  time 
he  learned. 

There  was  an  air  of  geniality  on  all  now,  and  Yan 
took  advantage  of  this  to  ask  for  something  he  had 
long  kept  in  mind. 

"Mr.  Clark,  will  you  take  us  out  for  a  Coon  hunt? 
We  know  where  there  are  lots  of  Coons  that  feed  in 
a  corn  patch  up  the  creek." 

If  Yan  had  asked  this  a  month  ago  he  would  have 
got  a  contemptuous  refusal.  Before  the  visit  to 
Garney's  grave  it  might  have  been,  "Oh,  I  dunno 
— I  ain't  got  time,"  but  he  was  on  the  right  side  of 
Caleb  now,  and  the  answer  was : 

"Well,  yes!  Don't  mind  if  I  do,  first  night  it's 
coolish,  so  the  Dog  kin  run." 


XXI 
The  Triumph  of  Guy 

THE    boys    had   hunted   the    Woodchuck    quite 
regularly   since   first  meeting  it.     Their  pro-         » 
gramme  was  much  the  same — each  morning 

about  nine  or  ten  they  would  sneak  out  to  the  clover        ,A   fe  fc*\ 

field.     It  was  usually  Guy  who  first  discovered  the     ^  *k\\  t  w 

old  Grizzly,  then  all  would  fire  a  harmless  shot,  the     ^  'J+>\'£  )     I 
Woodchuck  would  scramble  into  his  den  and  the  inci-        ^  jL}(  -•  j  »§ 
dent  be  closed  for  the  day.     This  became  as  much  a  ^       £}'    ' 
part  of  the  day's  routine  as  getting  breakfast,  and  \    •  / 
much  more  so  than  the  washing  of  the  dishes.     Once    ^.^ 
or  twice  the  old  Grizzly  had  narrow  escapes,  but  so  far    \\V\oJ- 
he  was  none  the  worse,  rather  the  better,  being  wiser.        '    ^^  *r- 
The  boys,  on  the  other  hand,  gained  nothing,  with  the        ^**\     / 
possible  exception  of  Guy.      Always   quick-sighted,  '  ' 

his  little  washed-out  optics  developed  a  marvellous 
keenness.  At  first  it  was  as  often  Yan  or  Sam  who 
saw  the  old  Grizzly,  but  later  it  was  always  Guy. 

One  morning  Sam  approached  the  game  from  one 
point,  Guy  and  Yan  from  another  some  yards  away. 
"  No  Woodchuck  !  "  was  the  first  opinion,  but  suddenly 
Guy  called  "I  see  him."  There  in  a  little  hollow 
fully  sixty  yards  from  his  den,  and  nearly  a  hundred 
from  the  boys,  concealed  in  a  bunch  of  clover,  Guy 
saw  a  patch  of  gray  fur  hardly  two  inches  square. 
"That's  him,  sure."' 

429 


Two  Little  Savages 

Yan  could  not  see  it  at  all.  Sam  saw  but  doubted. 
An  instant  later  the  Woodchuck  (for  it  was  he)  stood 
UP  on  k*s  kin(^  ^e&s'  raised  his  chestnut  breast  above 
the  clover,  and  settled  all  doubt. 

"By  George!"  exclaimed  Yan  in  admiration. 
"  That  is  great.  You  have  the  most  wonderful  eyes 
I  ever  did  see.  Your  name  ought  to  be  '  Hawkey e' 
—that  should  be  your  name." 

"All  right,"  shrilled  out  Guy  enthusiastically. 
"  Will  you — will  you,  Sam,  will  you  call  me  Hawkey  e  ? 
I  think  you  ought  to,"  he  added  pleadingly. 

"I  think  so,  Sam,"  said  the  Second  Chief.  "He's 
turned  out  great  stuff,  an'  it's  regular  Injun." 

"We'll  have  to  call  a  Council  and  settle  that.  Now 
let's  to  business." 

"Say,  Sapwood,  you're  so  smart,  couldn't  you  go 
round  through  the  woods  to  your  side  and  crawl 
through  the  clover  so  as  get  between  the  old  Grizzly 
and  his  den?"  suggested  the  Head  Chief. 

' '  I  bet  I  can ,  an '  I'll  bet  a  dollar ' ' 

"Here,  now,"  said  Yan,  "Injuns  don't  have  dol 
lars." 

"Well,  I'll  bet  my  scalp  —  my  black  scalp,  I 
mean — against  Sam's  that  I  kill  the  old  Grizzly  first." 

"Oh,  let  me  do  it  first — you  do  it  second,"  said 
Sam  imploringly. 

"Errr — yer  scared  of  yer  scalp." 

"  I'll  go  you, "  said  Sam. 

Each  of  the  boys  had  a  piece  of  black  horsehair 
that  he  called  his  scalp.  It  was  tied  with  a  string  to 

43° 


The  Triumph  of  Guy 

the  top  of  his  head — and  this  was  what  Guy  wished 
to  wager. 

Yan  now  interfered:  "Quit  your  squabbling,  you 
Great  War  Chiefs,  an'  'tend  to  business.  If  Wood 
pecker  kills  old  Grizzly  he  takes  Sap  wood's  scalp; 
if  Sappy  kills  him  he  takes  the  Woodpecker's  scalp, 
an'  the  winner  gets  a  grand  feather,  too. " 

Sam  and  Yan  waited  impatiently  in  the  woods  while 
Guy  sneaked  around.  The  Woodchuck  seemed 
unusually  bold  this  day.  He  wandered  far  from  his 
den  and  got  out  of  sight  in  hollows  at  times.  The 
boys  saw  Guy  crawl  through  the  fence,  though  the 
Woodchuck  did  not.  The  fact  was,  that  he  had 
always  had  the  enemy  approach  him  from  the  other 
side,  and  was  not  watching  eastward. 

Guy,  flat  on  his  breast,  worked  his  way  through 
the  clover.  He  crawled  about  thirty  yards  and  now 
was  between  the  Woodchuck  and  his  den.  Still 
old  Grizzly  kept  on  stuffing  himself  with  clover  and 
watching  toward  the  Raften  woods.  .  The  boys 
became  intensely  excited.  Guy  could  see  them,  but 
not  the  Woodchuck.  They  pointed  and  gesticulated. 
Guy  thought  that  meant  "Now  shoot."  He  got 
up  cautiously.  The  Woodchuck  saw  him  and 
bounded  straight  for  its  den — that  is,  toward  Guy. 
Guy  fired  wildly.  The  arrow  went  ten  feet  over 
the  Grizzly's  head,  and,  that  "huge,  shaking 
mass  of  fur"  bounding  straight  at  him,  struck 
terror  to  his  soul.  He  backed  up  hastily,  not 
knowing  where  to  run.  He  was  close  to  the  den. 


Two  Little  Savages 


The  Woodchuck  chattered  his  teeth  and  plunged 
to  get  by  the  boy,  each  as  scared  as  could  be.  Guy 
gave  a  leap  of  terror  and  fell  heavily  just  as  the  Wood- 
chuck  would  have  passed  under  him  and  home.  But 
the  boy  weighed  nearly  100  pounds,  and  all  that 
weight  came  with  crushing  force  on  old  Grizzly, 
knocking  the  breath  out  of  his  body.  Guy  scrambled 
to  his  feet  to  run  for  his  life,  but  he  saw  the  Wood- 
chuck  lying  squirming,  and  plucked  up  courage 
enough  to  give  him  a  couple  of  kicks  on  the  nose  that 
settled  him.  A  loud  yell  from  the  other  two  boys 
was  the  first  thing  that  assured  Guy  of  his  victory. 
They  came  running  over  and  found  him  standing  like 
the  hunter  in  an  amateur  photograph,  holding  his 
bow  in  one  hand  and  the  big  Woodchuck  by  the  tail 
in  the  other. 

"Now,  I  guess  you  fellers  will  come  to  me  to  larn 
you  how  to  kill  Woodchucks.  Ain't  he  an  old 
socker?  I  bet  he  weighs  fifty  pounds — yes,  near 
sixty."  [It  weighed  about  ten  pounds.] 

"Good  boy!  Bully  boy!  Hooray  for  the  Third 
War  Chief!  Hooray  for  Chief  Sapwood!"  and  Guy 
had  no  cause  to  complain  of  lack  of  appreciation  on  the 
part  of  the  others. 

He  swelled  out  his  chest  and  looked  proud  and 
haughty.  "Wished  I  knew  where  there  was  some 
more  Woodchucks,"  he  said.  "/  know  how  to  get 
them,  if  the  rest  don't." 

"Well,  that  should  count  for  a  grand  coup, 
Sappy." 


432 


The  Triumph  of  Guy 

"You  tole  me  you  wuz  goin'  to  call  me  '  Hawkeye' 
after  this  morning." 

"We'll  have  to  have  a  Grand  Council  to  fix  that 
up,"  replied  the, Head  Chief, 

"All  right;  let's  have  it  this  afternoon,  will  you?" 

"All  right." 

"  'Bout  four  o'clock?" 

"Why,  yes;  anytime." 

"And  you'll  fix  me  up  as  'Hawkeye,'  and  give  me 
a  dandy  Eagle  feather  for  killing  the  Woodchuck, 
at  four  o'clock?" 

"Yes,  sure;  only,  why  do  you  want  it  at  four 
o'clock?" 

But  Guy  seemed  not  to  hear,  and  right  away  after 
dinner  he  disappeared. 

"He's  dodging  the  dishwashing  again,"  suggested 
the  Woodpecker. 

"No,  he  isn't,"  said  the  Second  Chief.  "I  believe 
he's  going  to  bring  his  folks  to  see  him  in  his  triumph.  " 

"That's  so.  Let's  chip  right  in  and  make  it  an 
everlasting  old  blowout — kind  of  a  new  date  in  his 
tory.  You'll  hear  me  lie  like  sixty  to  help  him  out.  " 

"Good  enough.  I'm  with  you.  You  go  and  get 
your  folks.  I'll  go  after  old  Caleb,  and  we'll  fix  it  up 
to  call  him  'Hawkeye'  and  give  him  his  grand  coup 
feather  all  at  once." 

' 'Feard  my  folks  and  Caleb  wouldn't  mix," 
replied  Sam,  "but  I  believe  for  a  splurge  like  this 
Guy'd  ruther  have  my  folks.  You  see,  Da  has  the 
mortgage  on  their  place." 

435 


. 

V  / 

^^y^s-  .__ -ass^^  Two  Little  Savages 


So  it  was  agreed  Sam  was  to  go  for  his  mother, 
while  Yan  was  to  prepare  the  Eagle  feather  and 
skin  the  Woodchuck. 

It  was  not  "as  big  as  a  bear,"  but  it  was  a  very 
large  Woodchuckj  and  Yan  was  as  much  elated 
over  the  victory  as  any  of  them.  He  still  had  an 
hour  or  more  before  four  o'clock,  and  eager  to  make 
Guy's  triumph  as  Indian  as  possible,  he  cut  off  all 
the  Woodchuck's  claws,  then  strung  them  on  a  string, 
with  a  peeled  and  pithed  Elder  twig  an  inch  long 
between  each  two.  Some  of  the  claws  were  very, 
very  small,  but  the  intention  was  there  to  make  a 
Grizzly-claw  necklace. 

Guy  made  for  home  as  fast  as  he  could  go.  His 
father  hailed  him  as  he  neared  the  garden  and  evi 
dently  had  plans  of  servitude,  but  Guy  darted  into 
the  dining-room-living-room-bedroom-kitchen-room , 
which  constituted  nine-tenths  of  the  house. 

"Oh,  Maw,  you  just  ought  to  seen  me;  you  just 
want  to  come  this  afternoon — I'm  the  Jim  Dandy 
of  the  hull  Tribe,  an'  they're  going  to  make  me  Head 
Chief.  I  killed  that  whaling  old  Woodchuck  that 
pooty  nigh  killed  Paw.  They  couldn't  do  a  thing 
without  me — them  fellers  in  camp.  They  tried  an' 
tried  more'n  a  thousand  times  to  get  that  old 
Woodchuck— yes,  I  bet  they  tried  a  million  times, 
an'  I  just  waited  till  they  was  tired  and  give  up, 
then  I  says,  'Now,  I'll  show  you  how.1  First  I 
had  to  point  him  out.  Them  fellers  is  no  good 
to  see  things.  Then  I  says,  'Now,  Sam  and  Yan, 

436 


The  Triumph  of  Guy 

you  fellers  stay  here,  an'  just  to  show  how  easy 
it  is  when  you  know  how,  I'll  leave  all  my  bose- 
narrers  behind  an'  go  with  nothing.'  Wall,  there 
they  stood  an'  watched  me,  an'  I  s-n-e-a-k-e-d  round 
the  fence  an'  c-r-a-w-1-e-d  in  the  clover  just  like  an 
Injun  till  I  got  between  him  an'  his,  hole,  and  then 
I  hollers  and  he  come  a-snortin'  an'  a-chatterin'  his 
teeth  at  me  to  chaw  me  up,  for  he  seen  I  had  no  stick 
nor  nothin',  an'  I  never  turned  a  hair;  I  kep'  cool  an' 
waited  till  jest  as  he  was  going  to  jump  for  my  throat, 
then  I  turned  and  gave  him  one  kick  on  the  snoot  that 
sent  him  fifty  feet  in  the  air,  an'  when  he  come  down 
he  was  deader 'n  Kilsey's  hen  when  she  was  stuffed 
with  onions.  Oh,  Maw,  I'm  just  the  bully  boy;  they 
can't  do  nothin'  in  camp  'thout  me.  I  had  to  larn 
'em  to  hunt  Deer  an'  see  things — an' — an' — an' — lots 
o'  things,  so  they  are  goin'  to  make  me  Head 
Chief  of  the  hull  Tribe,  an'  call  me  'Hawkeye,'  too; 
that's  the  way  the  Injuns  does.  It's  to  be  at  four 
o'clock  this  afternoon,  an'  you  got  to  come.  " 

Burns  scoffed  at  the  whole  thing  and  told  Guy  to 
get  to  work  at  the  potatoes,  and  if  he  left  down  the 
bars  so  that  the  Pig  got  out  he'd  skin  him  alive;  he 
would  have  no  such  fooling  round  his  place.  But 
Mrs.  Burns  calmly  informed  him  that  she  was  going. 
It  was  to  her  much  like  going  to  see  a  university 
degree  conferred  on  her  boy. 

Since  Burns  would  not  assist,  the  difficulty  of  the 
children  now  arose.  This,  however,  was  soon  settled. 
They  should  go  along.  It  was  twro  hours'  toil  for 

437 


Two  Little  Savages 

the  mother  to  turn  the  four  brown-limbed,  nearly 
naked,  dirty,  happy  towsle-tops  into  four  little 
martyrs,  bef  rocked,  beribboned,  becombed  and  be- 
booted.  Then  they  all  straggled  across  the  field, 
Mrs.  Burns  carrying  the  baby  in  one  arm  and  a  pot  of 
jam  in  the  other.  Guy  ran  ahead  to  show  the  way, 
and  four-year-old,  three-year-old  and  two-year-old, 
hand  in  hand,  formed  a  diagonal  line  in  the  wake  of 
the  mother. 

They  were  just  a  little  surprised  on  getting  to  camp 
to  find  Mrs.  Raften  and  Minnie  there  in  holiday 
clothes.  Marget's  first  feeling  was  resentment,  but 
her  second  thought  was  a  pleasant  one.  That  "stuck- 
up"  woman,  the  enemy's  wife,  should  see  her  boy's 
triumph,  and  Mrs.  Burns  at  once  seized  on  the  chance 
to  play  society  cat. 

"How  do  ye  do,  Mrs.  Raften;  hope  you're  well," 
she  said  with  a  tinge  of  malicious  pleasure  and  a 
grand  attempt  at  assuming  the  leadership. 

"Quite  well,  thank  you.  We  came  down  to  see 
how  the  boys  were  getting  on  in  camp.  " 

"They've  got  on  very  nicely  sense  my  boy  fined 
them,"  retorted  Mrs.  Burns,  still  fencing. 

"So  I  understand;  the  other  two  have  become 
very  fond  of  him,"  returned  Mrs.  Raften,  seeking 
to  disarm  her  enemy. 

This  speech  had  its  effect.  Mrs.  Burns  aimed  only 
to  forestall  the  foe,  but  finding  to  her  surprise  that 
the  enemy's  wife  was  quite  gentle,  a  truce  was  made, 
and  by  the  time  Mrs.  Raften  had  petted  and  praised 

438 


The  Triumph  of  Guy 


the  four  tow-tops  and  lauded  Guy  to  the  utmost 
the  air  of  latent  battle  was  replaced  by  one  of 
cordiality. 

The  boys  now  had  everything  ready  for  the  grand 
ceremony.  On  the  Calfskin  rug  at  one  end  was  the 
Council;  Guy,  seated  on  the  skin  of  the  Woodchuck 
and  nearly  hiding  it  from  view,  Sam  on  his  left  hand  and 
Van  with  the  drum,  on  his  right.  In  the  middle  the 
Council  fire  blazed.  To  give  air,  the  teepee  cover 
was  raised  on  the  shady  side  and  the  circle  of  visitors 
was  partly  in  the  teepee  and  partly  out. 

The  Great  War  Chief  first  lighted  the  peace  pipe, 
puffed  for  a  minute,  then  blew  off  the  four  smokes 
to  the  four  winds  and  handed  it  to  the  Second  and 
Third  War  Chiefs,  who  did  the  same. 

Little  Beaver  gave  three  thumps  on  the  drum  for 
silence,  and  the  Great  Woodpecker  rose  up: 

"Big  Chiefs,  Little  Chiefs,  Braves,  Warriors,  Coun 
cillors,  Squaws,  and  Papooses  of  the  Sanger  Indians: 
When  our  Tribe  was  at  war  with  them — them — t hem- 
other  Injuns — them  Birchbarks,  we  took  prisoner 
one  of  their  warriors  and  tortured  him  to  death  two 
or  three  times,  and  he  showed  such  unusual  stuff  that 
we  took  him  into  our  Tribe " 

Loud  cries  of  "  How — How — How,  "  led  by  Yan. 

"We  gave  a  sun-dance  for  his  benefit,  but  he  didn't^ 
brown — seemed  too  green — so  we  called  him  Sapwood.  1 
From  that  time  he  has  fought  his  way  up  from  the  \ 
ranks  and  got  to  be  Third  WTar  Chief- " 

"  How— How— How.  " 


439 


/r 


Two  Little  Savages 

"The  other  day  the  hull  Tribe  j'ined  to  attack  an' 
capture  a  big  Grizzly  and  was  licked  bad,  when  the 
War  Chief  Sap  wood  came  to  the  rescue  an'  settled 
the  owld  baste  with  one  kick  on  the  snoot.  Deeds 
like  this  is  touching.  A  feller  that  kin  kick  like  that 
didn't  orter  be  called  Sap  wood  nor  Saphead  nor 
Sapanything.  No,  sirree  !  It  ain't  right.  He's  the 
littlest  Warrior  among  the  War  Chiefs,  but  he  kin 
see  farder  an'  do  it  oftener  an'  better  than  his  betters. 
He  kin  see  round  a  corner  or  through  a  tree.  'Cept 
maybe  at  night,  he's  the  swell  seer  of  the  outfit,  an' 
the  Council  has  voted  to  call  him  '  Hawkeye. '  ' 

"  How — How — How — How — How ' 

Here  Little  Beaver  handed  the  Head  War  Chief 
a  flat  white  stick  on  which  was  written  in  large  let 
ters  "Sap wood. " 

"Here's  the  name  he  went  by  before  he  was  great 
an'  famous,  an'  this  is  the  last  of  it."  The  Chief  put 
the  stick  in  the  fire,  saying,  "  Now  let  us  see  if  you're 
too  green  to  burn.  "  Little  Beaver  now  handed  Wood 
pecker  a  fine  Eagle  feather,  red-tufted,  and  bearing 
in  outline  a  man  with  a  Hawk's  head  pnd  an  arrow 
from  his  eye.  "This  here's  a  swagger  Eagle  feather 
for  the  brave  deed  he  done,  and  tells  about  him  being 
Hawkeye,  too"  (the  feather  was  stuck  in  Guy's  hair 
and  the  claw  necklace  put  about  his  neck  amid 
loud  cries  of  "How — How — "  and  thumps  of  the 
drum),  "and  after  this,  any  feller  that  calls  him 
Sapwood  has  to  double  up  and  give  Hawkeye  a 
free  kick." 


440 


The  Triumph  of  Guy 

There  was  a  great  chorus  of  "How — How."  Guy 
tried  hard  to  look  dignified  and  not  grin,  but  it  got 
beyond  him.  He  was  smiling  right  across  and  half 
way  round.  His  mother  beamed  with  pride  till  her 
eyes  got  moist  and  overflowed. 

Every  one  thought  the  ceremony  was  over,  but 
Yan  stood  up  and  began:  "There  is  something 
that  has  been  forgotten,  Chiefs,  Squaws  and  Pap- 
pooses  of  the  Sanger  Nation:  When  we  went  out 
after  this  Grizzly  I  was  witness  to  a  bargain  between 
two  of  the  War  Chiefs.  According  to  a  custom  of 
our  Tribe,  they  bet  their  scalps,  each  that  he  would 
be  the  one  to  kill  the  Grizzly.  The  Head  Chief 
Woodpecker  was  one  and  Haw^keye  was  the  other. 
Hawkeye,  you  can  help  yourself  to  Woodpecker's 
scalp." 

Sam  had  forgotten  about  this,  but  he  bowed  his 
head.  Guy  cut  the  string,  and  holding  up  the  scalp, 
he  uttered  a  loud,  horrible  war-whoop  in  which  every 
one  helped  with  some  sort  of  noise.  It  was  the 
crowning  event.  Mrs.  Burns  actually  wept  for  joy 
to  see  her  heroic  boy  properly  recognized  at  last. 

Then  she  went  over  to  Sam  and  said,  "Did  you 
bring  your  folks  here  to  see  my  boy  get  praised?" 

Sam  nodded  and  twinkled  an  eye. 

"Well,  I  don't  care  who  ye  are,  Raften  or  no 
Raften,  you  got  a  good  heart,  an'  it's  in  the  right 
place.  I  never  did  hold  with  them  as  says  'There 
ain't  no  good  in  a  Raften. '  I  always  hold  there's 
some  good  in  every  human.  I  know  your  Paw  did 


V 

U/ 


Two  Little  Savages 

buy  the  mortgage  on  our  place,  but  I  never  did 
believe  your  Maw  stole  our  Geese,  an'  I  never  will, 
an'  next  time  I  hear  them  runnin'  on  the  Raftens 
I'll  jest  open  out  an1  tell  what  I  know." 


picture    ffn-tht    7?f/>et 


To  record    Gvj 


442 


XXII 
The  Coon  Hunt 

YAN  did  not  forget  the  proposed  Coon  hunt — in 
fact,  he  was  most  impatient  for  it,  and  within 
two  days  the  boys  came  to  Caleb  about  sun 
down  and  reminded  him  of  his  promise.  It  was  a  sultry 
night,  but  Yan  was  sure  it  was  just  right  for  a  Coon 
hunt,  and  his  enthusiasm  carried  all  before  it.  Caleb 
was  quietly  amused  at  the  " cool  night"  selected,  but 
reckoned  it  would  be  "better  later." 

"Set  down — set  down,  boys,"  he  said,  seeing  them 
standing  ready  for  an  immediate  start.  "There's 
no  hurry.  Coons  won't  be  running  for  three  or  four 
hours  after  sundown." 

So  he  sat  and  smoked,  while  Sam  vainly  tried 
to  get  acquainted  with  old  Turk;  Yan  made  notes 
on  some  bird  wings  nailed  to  the  wall,  and  Guy 
got  out  the  latest  improved  edition  of  his  exploits 
in  Deer-hunting  and  Woodchuck  killing,  as  well  as 
enlarged  on  his  plans  for  gloriously  routing  any  Coon 
they  might  encounter. 

By  insisting  that  it  would  take  an  hour  to  get 
to  the  place,  Yan  got  them  started  at  nine  o'clock, 
Caleb,  on  a  suggestion  from  Guy,  carrying  a  small 
axe.  Keeping  old  Turk  well  in  hand,  they  took  the 
highway,  and  for  half  an  hour  tramped  011  toward 

443 


Two  Little  Savages 

the  "Corners."  Led  by  Sam,  they  climbed  a  fence, 
crossed  a  potato  field,  and  reached  the  corn  patch 
by  the  stream. 

"Go  ahead,  Turk.  Sic  him  !  Sic  him  !  Sic  him  !" 
and  the  company  sat  in  a  row  on  the  fence  to  await 
developments. 

Turk  was  somewhat  of  a  character.  He  hunted 
what  he  pleased  and  when  he  pleased.  His  master 
could  bring  him  on  the  Coon  grounds,  but  he  couldn't 
make  him  hunt  Coon  nor  anything  else  unless  it 
suited  his  own  fancy.  Caleb  had  warned  the  boys  to 
be  still,  and  they  sat  along  the  fence  in  dead  silence, 
awaiting  the  summons  from  the  old  Hound.  He 
had  gone  off  beating  and  sniffing  among  the  corn 
stalks.  His  steps  sounded  very  loud  and  his  sniffs 
like  puffs  of  steam.  It  was  a  time  of  tense  attention; 
but  the  Hound  wandered  farther  away,  and  even  his 
noisy  steps  were  lost. 

They  had  sat  for  two  long  minutes,  when  a 
low  yelp  from  a  distant  part  of  the  field,  then  a 
loud  "  bow  -wow "  from  the  Hound,  set  Yan's  heart 
jumping. 

"Game  afoot,"  said  Sam  in  a  .low  voice. 

"Bet  I  heered  him  first,"  piped  Guy. 

Yan's  first  thought  was  to  rush  pell-mell  after 
the  Dog.  He  had  often  read  of  the  hunt  follow 
ing  furiously  the  baying  of  the  Hounds,  btit  Caleb 
restrained  him. 

"Hold  on,  boy;  plenty  of  time.  Don't  know  yet 
what  it  is." 


444 


The  Coon  Hunt 


For  Turk,  like  most  frontier  Hounds,  would  run 
almost  any  trail — had  even  been  accused  of  running 
on  his  own — and  it  rested  with  those  who  knew  him 
best  to  discover  from  his  peculiar  style  of  tonguing 
just  what  the  game  might  be.  But  they  waited 
long  and  patiently  without  getting  another  bay 
from  the  Hound.  Presently  a  rustling  was  heard 
and  Turk  came  up  to  his  master  and  lay  down 
at  his  feet. 

"Go  ahead,  Turk;  put  him  up,"  but  the  Dog 
stirred  not.  "Go  ahead,"  and  Caleb  gave  him  a  rap 
with  a  small  stick.  The  Dog  dodged  away,  but 
lay  down  again,  panting. 

"What  was  it,  Mr.  Clark?"  demanded  Yan. 

"Don't  hardly  know.  Maybe  he  only  spiked 
himself  on  a  snag.  But  this  is  sure;  there's  no  Coons 
here  to-night.  There  won't  be  after  this.  We  come 
too  early,  and  it's  too  hot  for  the  Dog,  anyway." 

"We  could  cross  the  creek  and  go  into  Boyle's 
bush,"  suggested  the  Woodpecker.  "We're  like 
to  strike  anything  there.  Larry  de  Neuville  swears 
he  saw  a  Unicorn  there  the  night  he  came  back 
from  Garney's  wake." 

"How  can  you  tell  the  kind  of  game  by  the  Dog's 
barking?"  asked  Yan. 

"H-m!"  answered  Caleb,  as  he  put  a  fresh  quid 
in  his  lantern  jaw.  "You  surely  can  if  you  know 
the  country  an'  the  game  an'  the  Dog.  Course,  no 
two  Dogs  is  alike;  you  got  to  study  your  Dog,  an' 
if  he's  good  he'll  larn  you  lots  about  trailing." 


445 


Two  Little  Savages 


The  brook  was  nearly  dry  now,  so  they  crossed 
where  they  would.  Then  feeling  their  way  through 
the  dark  woods  with  eyes  for  the  most  part  closed, 
they  groped  toward  Boyle's  open  field,  then  across 
it  to  the  heavy  timber.  Turk  had  left  them  at  the 
brook,  and,  following  its  course  till  he  came  to  a  pool, 
had  had  a  bath.  As  they  entered  the  timber 
tract  he  joined  them,  dripping  wet  and  ready  for 
business. 

"Go  ahead,  Turk/'  and  again  all  sat  down  to 
await  the  opinion  of  the  expert. 

It  came  quickly.  The  old  Hound,  after  circling 
about  in  a  way  that  seemed  to  prove  him  inde 
pendent  of  daylight,  began  to  sniff  loudly,  and  gave 
a  low  whine.  He  followed  a  little  farther,  and  now 
his  tail  was  heard  to  'tap,  tap,  tap1  the  brush  as  he 
went  through  a  dry  thicket. 

"Hear  that  ?  He's  got  something  this  time,"  said 
Caleb  in  a  low  voice.  "Wait  a  little." 

The  Hound  was  already  working  out  a  puzzle, 
and  when  at  last  he  got  far  enough  to  be  sure,  he 
gave  a  short  bark.  There  was  another  spell  of 
sniffing,  then  another  bark,  then  several  little  barks 
at  intervals,  and  at  last  a  short  bay;  then  the  baying 
recommenced,  but  was  irregular  and  not  full-chested. 
The  sounds  told  that  the  Hound  was  running  in  a 
circle  about  the  forest,  but  at  length  ceased  moving, 
for  all  the  barking  was  at  cne  place.  When  the 
hunters  got  there  they  found  the  Dog  half-way  in  a 
hole  under  a  stump,  barking  and  scratching. 


,". 

?[•"'.        \     ^L.u, 


446 


The  Coon  Hunt 

"Humph,"  said  Caleb;  "nothing  but  a  Cotton 
tail.  Might  'a'  knowed  that  by  the  light  scent  an' 
the  circling  without  treeing." 

So  Turk  was  called  off  and  the  company  groped 
through  the  inky  woods  in  quest  of  more  adventures. 

"There's  a  kind  of  swampy  pond  down  the  lower 
end  of  the  bush — a  likely  place  for  Coons  on  a  Frog- 
hunt,"  suggested  the  Woodpecker. 

So  the  Hound  was  again  "turned  on"  near  the 
pond.  The  dry  woods  were  poor  for  scent,  but  the 
damp  margin  of  the  marsh  proved  good,  and  Turk 
became  keenly  interested  and  very  sniffy.  A  pre 
liminary  "  Woof!  "  was  followed  by  one  or  two  yelps 
and  then  a  full-chested  "Boooow!  "  that  left  no  doubt 
he  had  struck  a  hot  trail  at  last.  Oh,  what  wonder 
fully  thrilling  horn-blasts  those  were  !  Yan  for  the 
first  time  realized  the  power  of  the  "full  cry,"  whose 
praises  are  so  often  sung. 

The  hunters  sat  down  to  await  the  result,  for,  as 
Caleb  pointed  out,  there  was  "no  saying  where  the 
critter  might  run." 

The  Hound  bayed  his  fullest,  roundest  notes  at 
quick  intervals,  but  did  not  circle.  The  sound  of 
his  voice  told  them  that  the  chase  was  straight 
away,  out  of  the  woods,  easterly  across  an  open  field, 
and  at  a  hot  pace,  with  regular,  full  bellowing,  un 
broken  by  turn  or  doubt. 

"I  believe  he's  after  the  old  Callaghaii  Fox,"  said 
the  Trapper.  "They've  tried  it  together  before  now, 
an'  there  ain't  anything  but  a  Fox  will  run  so 
straight  and  fetch  such  a  tune  out  of  Turk." 

447 


Two  Little  Savages 


The  baying  finally  was  lost  in  the  distance,  prob« 
ably  a  mile  away,  but  there  was  nothing  for  it  but 
to  wait.  If  Turk  had  been  a  full-bred  and  trained 
Foxhound  he  would. have  stuck  to  that  trail  all  night, 
but  in  half  an  hour  he  returned,  puffing  and  hot,  to 
throw  himself  into  the  shallow  pond. 

"Everything  scared  away  now,"  remarked  Caleb. 
"We  might  try  the  other  side  of  the  pond."  Once 
or  twice  the  dog  became  interested,  but  decided  that 
there  was  nothing  in  it,  and  returned  to  pant  by  his 
master's  feet." 

They  had  now  travelled  so  far  toward  home  that 
a  very  short  cut  across  fields  would  bring  them  into 
their  own  woods. 

The  moon  arose  as  they  got  there,  and  after  their 
long  groping  in  the  murky  darkness  this  made  the 
night  seem  very  bright  and  clear. 

They  had  crossed  the  brook  below  Granny  de 
Neuville's,  and  were  following  the  old  timber  trail 
that  went  near  the  stream,  when  Turk  stopped  to 
sniff,  ran  back  and  forth  two  or  three  times,  then 
stirred  the  echoes  with  a  full-toned  bugle  blast  and 
led  toward  the  water. 

"Bow — bow — bow — bow,"  he  bawled  for  forty 
yards  and  came  to  a  stop.  The  baying  was  exactly 
the  same  that  he  gave  on  the  Fox  trail,  but  the 
course  of  the  animal  was  crooked,  and  now  there 
was  a  break. 

They  could  hear  the  dog  beating  about  close  at 
hand  and  far  away,  but  silent  so  far  as  tongue  was 
concerned. 

448 


The  Coon  Hunt 


"What  is  it,  Caleb  ?"  said  Sam  with  calm  assurance, 
forgetting  how  recent  was  their  acquaintance. 

"Dunno,"  was  the  short  reply. 

11  Tisn't  a  Fox,  is  it  ?  "  asked  Van. 

But  a  sudden  renewal  of  "Bow — bow — bow — " 
from  the  Hound  one  hundred  yards  away,  at  the 
fence,  ended  all  discussion.  The  dog  had  the  hot 
trail  again.  The  break  had  been  along  the  line  of  a 
fence  that  showed,  as  Caleb  said,  "It  was  a  Coon, 
'cept  it  might  be  some  old  house  Cat  maybe ;  them 
was  the  only  things  that  would  run  along  top  of  a 
fence  in  the  night  time." 

It  was  easy  to  follow  now;  the  moonlight  was  good, 
and  the  baying  of  the  Hound  was  loud  and  regular. 
It  led  right  down  the  creek,  crossing  several  pools 
and  swamps. 

"That  settles  it,"  remarked  the  Trapper  decisively. 
"Cats  don't  take  to  the  water.  That's  a  Coon,"  and 
as  they  hurried  they  heard  a  sudden  change  in  the 
dog's  note,  no  longer  a  deep  rich  lB-o-o-w-w.'  It 
became  an  outrageous  clamour  of  mingled  yelps, 
growls  and  barks. 

"Ha — heh.  That  means  he's  right  on  it.  That  is 
what  he  does  when  he  sees  the  critter." 

But  the  ' '  view  halloo  ' '  was  quickly  dropped  and 
the  tonguing  of  the  dog  was  now  in  short,  high- 
pitched  yelps  at  one  place. 

"Jest  ^so  !  He's  treed  !  That's  a  Coon,  all  right  !  " 
and  Caleb  led  straight  for  the  place. 

The   Hound   was   barking   and   leaping   against 


449 


}* 


1    I 

\ 


I) 


*A  V  V 

X*  *          V  ^ 


Two  Little  Savages 

big  Basswood,  and  Caleb's  comment  was:  "Hm, 
never  knowed  a  Coon  to  do  any  other  way — always 
gets  up  the  highest  and  tarnalest  tree  to  climb  in  the 
hull  bush.  Now  who's  the  best  climber  here?" 

"Yan  is,"  volunteered  Sam. 

"Kin  ye  do  it,  Yan?" 

"I'll  try." 

"Guess  we'll  make  a  fire  first  and  see  if  we  can't 
see  him,"  said  the  Woodpecker. 

"If  it  was  a  Woodchuck  I'd  soon  get  him  for  you," 
chimed  in  Hawkey e,  but  no  one  heeded. 

Sam  and  Yan  gathered  stuff  and  soon  had  a  flood 
of  flickering  red  light  on  all  the  surrounding  trees. 
They  scanned  the  big  Basswood  without  getting 
sight  of  their  quarry.  Caleb  took  a  torch  and 
found  on  the  bark  some  fresh  mud.  By  going 
back  on  the  trail  to  where  it  had  crossed  the 
brook  they  found  the  footprint — undoubtedly  that 
of  a  large  Coon. 

"Reckon  he's  in  some  hollow;  he's  surely  up  that 
tree,  and  Basswood's  are  always  hollow." 

Yan  now  looked  at  the  large  trunk  in  doubt  as  to 
whether  he  could  manage  it. 

Caleb  remarked  his  perplexity  and  said:  "Yes; 
that's  so.  You  ain't  fifteen  foot  spread  across  the 
wings,  are  you?  But  hold  on " 

He  walked  to  a  tall  thin  tree  near  at  hand,  cut 
it  through  with  the  axe  in  a  few  minutes,  and  threw 
it  so  as  to  rest  against  the  lowest  branch  of  the  big 
Basswood.  Up  this  Yan  easily  swarmed,  carrying 

45° 


The  Coon  Hunt 


a  stout  Elm  stick  tied  behind.  When  he  got  to  the 
great  Basswood  he  felt  lost  in  the  green  mass,  but 
the  boys  below  carried  torches  so  as  to  shed  light  on 
each  part  in  turn.  At  first  Yan  found  neither  hole 
in  the  trunk  nor  Coon,  but  after  long  search  in  the 
upper  branches  he  saw  a  great  ball  of  fur  on  a  high 
crotch  and  in  it  two  glowing  eyes  that  gave  him  a 
thrill.  He  yelled:  "Here  he  is!  Look  out  below." 
He  climbed  up  nearer  and  tried  to  push  the  Coon  off, 
but  it  braced  itself  firmly  and  defied  him  until  he 
climbed  above  it,  when  it  leaped  and  scrambled  to  a 
lower  branch. 

Yan  followed  it,  while  his  companions  below  got 
greatly  excited,  as  they  could  see  nothing,  and  only 
judged  by  the  growling  and  snarling  that  Yan  and 
the  Coon  were  fighting.  After  another  passage  at 
arms  the  Coon  left  the  second  crotch  and  scrambled 
down  the  trunk  till  it  reached  the  leaning  sapling, 
and  there  perched,  glaring  at  the  hunters  below. 
The  old  Hound  raised  a  howl  when  he  saw  the 
quarry,  and  Caleb,  stepping  to  one  side,  drew  his 
revolver  and  fired.  The  Coon  fell  dead  into  their 
midst.  Turk  sprang  to  do  battle,  but  he  was  not 
needed,  and  Caleb  fondly  and  proudly  wiped  the  old 
white  pistol  as  though  it  alone  were  to  be  thanked 
for  the  clever  shot. 

Yan  came  down  quickly,  though  he  found  it  harder 
to  get  down  than  up.  He  hurried  excitedly  into  the 
ring  and  stroked  the  Coon  with  a  mixture  of  feel 
ings — admiring  its  fur — sorry,  after  all,  that  it  was 


Two  Little  Savages 


killed,  and  triumphant  that  he  had  led  the  way. 
It  was  his  Coon,  and  all  admitted  that.  Sam 
"hefted"  it  by  one  leg  and  said,  "  Weighs  thirty 
pounds,  I  bet." 

Guy  said:  "Pooh!  'Tain't  half  as  big  as  that 
there  big  Woodchuck  I  killed,  an'  you  never  would 
have  got  him  if  I  hadn't  thought  of  the  axe." 

Yan  thought  it  would  weigh  thirty-five  pounds. 
Caleb  guessed  it  at  twenty-five  (and  afterward  they 
found  out  that  it  barely  weighed  eighteen).  While 
they  were  thus  talking  the  Dog  broke  into  an  angry 
barking  such  as  he  gave  for  strangers — his  "human 
voice,"  Caleb  called  it — and  at  once  there  stepped 
into  the  circle  William  Raften.  He  had  seen  the 
lights  in  the  woods,  and,  dreading  a  fire  at  this  dry 
season,  had  dressed  and  come  out. 

"Hello,  Da;  why  ain't  you  in  bed,  where  you 
ought  to  be?" 

Raften  took  no  notice  of  his  son,  but  said  sneeringly 
to  Caleb:  "Ye  ain't  out  trying  to  get  another  shot  at 
me,  air  ye?"  'Tain't  worth  your  while;  I  hain't  got 
no  cash  on  me  to-night." 

"Now  see  here,  Da,"  said  Sam,  interrupting  before 
Caleb  could  answer,  "you  don't  play  fair.  I  know, 
an'  you  ought  to  know,  that's  all  rot  about  Caleb 
shooting  at  you.  If  he  had,  he'd  'a'  got  you  sure. 
I've  seen  him  shoot." 

"Not  when  he  was  drunk." 

"Last  time  I  was  drunk  we  was  in  it  together," 
said  Caleb  fiercely,  finding  his  voice. 


45  2 


The  Coon  Hunt 

"  Purty  good  for  a  man  as  swore  he  had  no  revolver," 
and  Raften  pointed  to  Caleb's  weapon.  "I  seen  you 
with  that  ten  years  ago.  An'  sure  I'm  not  scairt 
of  you  an'  yer  revolver,"  said  Raften,  seeing  Caleb 
fingering  his  white  pet;  "an'  I  tell  ye  this.  I  won't 
have  ye  and  yer  Sheep-killing  cur  ramatacking 
through  my  woods  an'  making  fires  this  dry  saison." 

"D you,  Raften,  I've  stood  all  I'm  goin'  to 

stand  from  you."  The  revolver  was  out  in  a  flash, 
and  doubtless  Caleb  would  have  lived  up  to  his 
reputation,  but  Sam,  springing  to  push  his  father 
back,  came  between,  and  Yan  clung  to  Caleb's 
revolver  arm,  while  Guy  got  safely  behind  a  tree. 

"Get  out  o'  the  way,  you  kids  !"  snarled  Caleb. 

"By  all  manes,"  said  Raften  scoffingly;  "now 
that  he's  got  me  unarrumed  again.  You  dhirty 
coward  !  Get  out  av  the  way,  bhoys,  an  Oi'll  settle 
him,"  for  Raften  was  incapable  of  fear,  and  the 
boys  would  have  been  thrust  aside  and  trouble 
follow,  but  that  Raften  as  he  left  the  house  had 
called  his  two  hired  men  to  follow  and  help  fight  the 
fire,  and  now  they  came  on  the  scene.  One  of  them 
was  quite  friendly  with  Caleb,  the  other  neutral, 
and  they  succeeded  in  stopping  hostilities  for  a  time, 
while  Sam  exploded: 

"  Now  see  here,  Da,  'twould  just  'a'  served  you  right 
if  you'd  got  a  hole  through  you.  You  make  me  sick, 
running  on  Caleb.  He  didn't  make  that  fire;  'twas 
me  an'  Yan,  an'  we'll  put  it  out  safe  enough.  You 
skinned  Caleb  an'  he  never  done  you  no  harm. 

453 


Two  Little  Savages 

You  run  on  him  just  as  Granny  de  Neuville  done 
on  you  after  she  grabbed  your  groceries.  You 
ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself.  'Tain't  square, 
an'  't ain't  being  &  man.  When  you  can't  prove 
nothin'  you  ought  to  shut  up." 

Raften  was  somewhat  taken  aback  by  this  out 
burst,  especially  as  he  found  all  the  company  against 
him.  He  had  often  laughed  at  Granny  de  Neuville's 
active  hatred  against  him  when  he  had  done  her 
nothing  but  good.  It  never  occurred  to  him  that  he 
was  acting  a  similar  part.  Most  men  would  have  been 
furious  at  the  disrespectful  manner  of  their  son, 
but  Raften  was  as  insensitive  as  he  was  uncowardly. 
His  first  shock  of  astonishment  over,  his  only  thought 
of  Sam  was,  "Hain't  he  got  a  cheek!  My!  but  he 
talks  like  a  lawyer,  an'  he  sasses  right  back  like  a 
fightin'  man;  belave  I'll  make  him  study  law  instid 
of  tooth-pullin'." 

The  storm  was  over,  for  Caleb's  wrath  was  of  the 
short  and  fierce  kind,  and  Raften,  turning  away  in 
moral  defeat,  growled:  "See  that  ye  put  that  fire  out 
safe.  Ye  ought  all  to  be  in  yer  beds  an'  aslape, 
like  dacint  folks." 

"Well,  ain't  you  dacint  ? "  retorted  Sam. 

Raften  turned  away,  heeding  neither  that  nor 
Guy's  shrill  attempt  to  interpolate  some  details  of 
his  own  importance  in  this  present  hunt — "Ef  it 
hadn't  been  for  me  they  wouldn't  had  no  axe  along, 
Mr.  Raften" — but  William  had  disappeared. 

The   boys   put   out   the   fire   carefully   and   made 

454 


The  Coon  Hunt 

somewhat  silently  for  camp.  Sam  and  Yan  carried 
the  Coon  between  them  on  a  stick,  and  before  they 
reached  the  teepee  they  agreed  that  the  carcass 
weighed  at  least  eighty  pounds. 

Caleb  left  them,  and  they  all  turned  in  at   once 
and  slept  the  sleep  of  the  tired  camper. 


455 


XXIII 

The  Banshee's   Wail  and    the  Huge   Night 
Prowler 

NEXT  day  while  working  on  the  Coon-skin  Sam 
and  Yan  discussed  thoroughly  the  unpleasant 
incident  of  the  night  before,  but  they  decided 
that  it  would  be  unwise  to  speak  of  it  to  Caleb 
unless  he  should  bring  up  the  subject,  and  Guy  was 
duly  cautioned. 

That  morning  Yan  went  to  the  mud  albums  on 
one  of  his  regular  rounds  and  again  found,  first  that 
curious  hoof -mark  that  had  puzzled  him  before,  and 
down  by  the  pond  album  the  track  of  a  very  large 
bird — much  like  a  Turkey  track,  indeed.  He  brought 
Caleb  to  see  them.  The  Trapper  said  that  one  was 
probably  the  track  of  a  Blue  Crane  (Heron),  and 
the  other,  "Well,  I  don't  hardly  know ;  but  it  looks 
to  me  mighty  like  the  track  of  a  big  Buck — only 
there  ain't  any  short  of  the  Long  Swamp,  and  that's 
ten  miles  at  least.  Of  course,  when  there's  only  one 
it  ain't  a  track;  it's  an  accident." 

"Yes;  but  I've  found  lots  of  them — a  trail  every 
time,  but  not  quite  enough  to  follow. 

That  night  after  dark,  when  he  was  coming  to 
camp  with  the  product  of  a  "massacree,"  Yan  heard 
a  peculiar  squawking,  guttural  sound  that  rose  from 

456 


The  Banshee's  Wail  and  the  Huge  Night  Prowler 


the  edge  of  the  pond  and  increased  in  strength, 
drawing  nearer,  till  it  was  a  hideous  and  terrifying 
uproar.  It  was  exactly  the  sound  that  Guy  had 
provoked  on  that  first  night  when  he  came  and 
tried  to  frighten  the  camp.  It  passed  overhead, 
and  Yan  saw  for  a  moment  the  form  of  a  large 
slow-flying  bird. 

Next  day  it  was  Yan's  turn  to  cook.  At  sunrise, 
as  he  went  for  water,  he  saw  a  large  Blue  Heron  rise 
from  the  edge  of  the  pond  and  fly  on  heavy  pinions 
away  over  the  tree-tops.  It  was  a  thrilling  sight. 
The  boy  stood  gazing  after  it,  absolutely  rapt  with 
delight,  and  when  it  was  gone  he  went  to  the  place 
where  it  rose  and  found  plenty  of  large  tracks  just 
like  the  one  he  had  sketched.  Unquestionably  it  was 
the  same  bird  as  on  the  night  before,  and  the  mystery 
of  the  Wolf  with  the  sore  throat  was  solved.  This 
explanation  seemed  quite  satisfactory  to  everybody 
but  Guy.  He  had  always  maintained  stoutly  that 
the  woods  were  full  of  Bears  right  after  sundown. 
Where  they  went  at  other  times  was  a  mystery,  but 
he  "reckoned  he  hadn't  yet  run  across  the  bird 
that  could  scare  him — no,  nor  the  beast,  nuther." 

Caleb  agreed  that  the  grating  cry  must  be  that  of 
the  Blue  Crane,  but  the  screech  and  wail  in  the  tree- 
tops  at  night  he  could  shed  no  light  on. 

There  were  many  other  voices  of  the  night  that 
became  more  or  less  familiar.  Some  of  them  were 
evidently  birds;  one  was  the  familiar  Song-Sparrow, 
and  high  over  the  tree-tops  from  the  gloaming  sky 


457 


Two  Little  Savages 


they  often  heard  a  prolonged  sweet  song.  It  was 
not  till  years  afterward  that  Yan  found  out  this  to 
be  the  night-song  of  the  Oven-bird,  but  he  was  able 
to  tell  them  at  once  the  cause  of  the  startling  outcry 
that  happened  one  evening  an  hour  after  sundown. 

The  Woodpecker  was  outside,  the  other  two 
inside  the  teepee.  A  peculiar  sound  fell  on  his  ear. 
It  kept  on — a  succession  of  long  whines,  and  getting 
stronger.  As  it  gave  no  sign  of  ending,  Sam  called 
the  other  boys.  They  stood  in  a  row  there  and  heard 
this  peculiar  "whine,  whine,  whine"  develop  into 
a  loud,  harsh  "whow,  whow,  whow." 

"It  must  be  some  new  Heron  cry,"  Yan  whispered. 

But  the  sound  kept  on  increasing  till  it  most 
resembled  the  yowling  of  a  very  strong-voiced  Cat, 
and  still  grew  till  each  separate  "meow"  might  have 
been  the  yell  of  a  Panther.  Then  at  its  highest 
and  loudest  there  was  a  prolonged  ' '  meow ' '  and 
silence,  followed  finally  by  the  sweet  chant  of  the 
Song-sparrow. 

A  great  light  dawned  on  Little  Beaver.  Now 
he  remembered  that  voice  in  Glenyan  so  long  ago, 
and  told  the  others  with  an  air  of  certainty : 

"Boys,  that's  the  yelling  of  a  Lynx,"  and  the  next 
day  Caleb  said  that  Yan  was  right. 

Some  days  later  they  learned  that  another  lamb 
had  been  taken  from  the  Raften  flock  that  night. 

In  the  morning  Yan  took  down  the  tom-tom  for  a 
little  music  and  found  it  flat  and  soft. 

"Hallo,"  said  he;  "going  to  rain." 

458 


The  Banshee's  Wail  and  the  Huge  Night  Prowler 

Caleb  looked  up  at  him  with  an  amused  expression. 
"You're  a  reg'lar  Injun.  It's  surely  an  Injun  trick 
that.  When  the  tom-tom  won't  sing  without  being 
warmed  at  the  fire  they  allus  says  'rain  before  night.' ' 

The  Trapper  stayed  late  that  evening.  It  had  been 
cloudy  all  the  afternoon,  and  at  sundown  it  began  to 
rain,  so  he  was  invited  to  supper.  The  shower  grew 
heavier  instead  of  ending.  Caleb  went  out  and  dug 
a  trench  all  round  the  teepee  to  catch  the  rain,  then  a 
leader  to  take  it  away.  After  supper  they  sat  around 
the  campfire  in  the  teepee ;  the  wind  arose  and  the  rain 
beat  down.  Yan  had  to  go  out  and  swing  the  smoke 
poles,  and  again  his  ear  was  greeted  with  the  screech. 
He  brought  in  an  armful  of  wood  and  made  the 
inside  of  the  teepee  a  blaze  of  cheerful  light.  A 
high  wind  now  came  in  gusts,  so  that  the  canvas 
flopped  unpleasantly  on  the  poles. 

"Where's  your  anchor  rope?"  asked  the  Trapper. 

Sam  produced  the  loose  end ;  the  other  was  fastened 
properly  to  the  poles  above.  It  had  never  been 
used,  for  so  far  the  weather  had  been  fine;  but  now 
Caleb  sunk  a  heavy  stake,  lashed  the  anchor  rope 
to  that,  then  went  out  and  drove  all  the  pegs  a 
little  deeper,  and  the  Tribe  felt  safe  from  any  ordi 
nary  storm. 

There  was  nothing  to  attract  the  old  Trapper  to  his 
own  shanty.  His  heirs  had  begun  to  forget  that  he 
needed  food,  and  what  little  they  did  send  was  of 
vilest  quality.  The  old  man  was  as  fond  of  human 
society  as  any  one,  and  was  easily  persuaded  now  to 
stay  all  night,  "if  you  can  stand  Guy  for  a  bed- 

459 


Two  Little  Savages 

feller."  So  Caleb  and  Turk  settled  down  for  a 
comfortable  evening  within,  while  the  storm  raged 
without. 

"Say,  don't  you  touch  that  canvas,  Guy;  you'll 
make  it  leak." 

"What,  me?  Oh,  pshaw  !  How  can  it  leak  for  a 
little  thing  like  that?"  and  Guy  slapped  it  again  in 
bravado. 

"All  right;  it's  on  your  side  of  the  bed,"  and  sure 
enough,  within  two  minutes  a  little  stream  of  water 
was  trickling  from  the  place  he  had  rubbed,  while 
elsewhere  the  canvas  turned  every  drop. 

This  is  well  known  to  all  who  have  camped 
under  canvas  during  a  storm,  and  is  more  easily 
remembered  than  explained. 

The  smoke  hung  heavy  in  the  top  of  the  teepee 
and  kept  crowding  down  until  it  became  unpleasant. 

"Lift  the  teepee  cover  on  the  windward  side,  Yan. 
There,  that's  it — but  hold  on,"  as  a  great  gust  came 
in,  driving  the  smoke  and  ashes  around  in  whirlwinds. 
"You  had  ought  to  have  a  lining.  Give  me  that  can 
vas:  that'll  do. "  Taking  great  care  not  to  touch  the 
teepee  cover,  Caleb  fastened  the  lining  across  three 
pole  spaces  so  that  the  opening  under  the  canvas 
was  behind  it.  This  turned  the  draught  from  their 
backs  and,  sending  it  over  their  heads,  quickly  cleared 
the  teepee  of  smoke  as  well  as  kept  off  what  little  rain 
entered  by  the  smoke  hole. 

"It's  on  them  linings  the  Injuns  paint  their  records 
and  adventures.  They  mostly  puts  their  totems  on 
the  outside  an'  their  records  on  the  lining." 

460 


The  Banshee's  Wail  and  the  Huge  Night  Prowler 

"Bully,"  said  Sam;  "now  there's  a  job  for  you, 
Little  Beaver;  by  the  time  you  get  our  adventures 
on  the  inside  and  our  totems  on  the  out  I  tell  you 
we'll  be  living  in  splendour." 

"I  think,"  answered  Yan  indirectly,  "we  ought 
to  take  Mr.  Clark  into  the  Tribe.  Will  you  be  our 
Medicine  Man?"  Caleb  chuckled  in  a  quiet  way, 
apparently  consenting.  "Now  I  have  four  totems 
to  paint  on  the  outside, "  and  this  was  the  beginning 
of  the  teepee  painting  that  Yan  carried  out  with  yel 
low  clay,  blue  clay  dried  to  a  white,  yellow  clay  burned 
to  red,  and  charcoal,  all  ground  in  Coon  grease  and 
Pine  gum,  to  be  properly  Indian.  He  could  easily 
have  gotten  bright  colours  in  oil  paint,  but  scorned 
such  White-man's  truck,  and  doubtless  the  general 
effect  was  all  the  better  for  it. 

"Say,  Caleb,"  piped  Guy,  "tell  us  about  the 
Injuns — about  their  bravery.  Bravery  is  what  / 
like,"  he  added  with  emphasis,  conscious  of  being 
now  on  his  own  special  ground.  "Why,  I  mind  the 
time  that  old  Woodchuck  was  coming  roaring  at  me — 
I  bet  some  fellers  would  just  'a'  been  so  scared " 

"Hsshf"  said  Sam. 

Caleb  smoked  in  silence.  The  rain  pattered  on 
the  teepee  without ;  the  wind  heaved  the  cover.  They 
all  sat  silently.  Then  sounded  loud  and  clear  a  ter 
rifying  "  scrrrrrr — oouivitrr."  The  boys  were  startled 
— would  have  been  terrified  had  they  been  outside 
or  alone. 

"  That's  it — that's  the  Banshee,  "  whispered  Sam. 


Two  Little  Savages 

Caleb  looked  up  sharply. 

"What  is  it?"  queried  Yan.  "We've  heard  it  a 
dozen  times,  at  least." 

Caleb  shook  his  head,  made  no  reply,  but  turned 
to  his  Dog.  Turk  was  lying  on  his  side  by  the  fire, 
and  at  this  piercing  screech  he  had  merely  lifted  his 
head,  looked  backward  over  his  shoulder,  turned  his 
big  sad  eyes  on  his  master,  then  laid  down  again. 

"Turk  don't  take  no  stock  in  it.  " 

"Dogs  never  hear  a  Banshee,"  objected  Sam,  "no 
more  than  they  can  see  a  ghost;  anyway,  that's  what 
Granny  de  Neuville  says. "  So  the  Dog's  negative 
testimony  was  the  reverse  of  comforting. 

"Hawkeye,"  said  the  Woodpecker,  "you're  the 
bravest  one  of  the  crowd.  Don't  you  want  to  go  out 
and  try  a  shot  at  the  Banshee?  I'll  lend  you  my 
Witch-hazel  arrow.  We'll  give  you  a  grand  coup 
feather  if  you  hit  him.  Go  ahead,  now — you  know 
bravery  is  what  you  like.  " 

"Yer  nothin'  but  a  passel  o'  blame  dumb  fools," 
was  the  answer,  "an'  I  wouldn't  be  bothered  talking 
to  ye.  Caleb,  tell  us  something  about  the  Indians." 

"What  the  Injuns  love  is  bravery,"  said  the 
Medicine  Man  with  a  twinkle  in  his  eye,  and  every 
body  but  Guy  laughed,  not  very  loudly,  for  each  was 
restrained  by  the  thought  that  he  would  rather  not 
be  called  upon  to  show  his  bravery  to-night. 

"I'm  going  to  bed,"  said  Hawkeye  with  unneces 
sary  energy. 

"Don't  forget  to  roost  under  the  waterspout  you 


The  Banshee's  Wail  and  the  Huge  Night  Prowler 

started  when  you  got  funny,"  remarked  the  Wood 
pecker. 

Yan  soon  followed  Guy's  example,  and  Sam,  who 
had  already  learned  to  smoke,  sat  up  with  Caleb. 
Not  a  word  passed  between  them  until  after  Guy's 
snore  and  Yan's  regular  puffs  told  of  sound  sleep,  when 
Sam,  taking  advantage  of  a  long-awaited  chance, 
opened  out  rather  abruptly: 

"Say,  Caleb,  I  ain't  going  to  side  with  no  man 
against  Da,  but  I  know  him  just  about  as  well  as  he 
knows  me.  Da's  all  right;  he's  plumb  and  square, 
and  way  down  deep  he's  got  an  awful  kind  heart; 
it's  pretty  deep,  grant  you,  but  it's  there,  O.K.  The 
things  he  does  on  the  quiet  to  help  folks  is  done  on 
the  quiet  and  ain't  noticed.  The  things  he  does  to 
beat  folks — an'  he  does  do  plenty — is  talked  all  over 
creation.  But  I  know  he  has  a  wrong  notion  of  you, 
just  as  you  have  of  him,  and  it's  got  to  be  set  right. " 

Sam's  good  sense  was  always  evident,  and  now, 
when  he  laid  aside  his  buffoonery,  his  voice  and 
manner  were  very  impressive — more  like  those  of  a 
grown  man  than  of  a  fifteen-year-old  boy. 

Caleb  simply  grunted  and  went  on  smoking,  so 
Sam  continued,  "I  want  to  hear  your  story,  then 
Ma  an'  me'll  soon  fix  Da." 

The  mention  of  "Ma"  was  a  happy  stroke.  Caleb 
had  known  her  from  youth  as  a  kind-hearted  girl. 
She  was  all  gentleness  and  obedience  to  her  husband 
except  in  matters  of  what  she  considered  right  and 
wrong,  and  here  she  was  immovable.  She  had 

463 


Two  Little  Savages 


always  believed  in  Caleb,  even  after  the  row,  and 
had  not  hesitated  to  make  known  her  belief. 

"There  ain't  much  to  tell,"  replied  Caleb  bitterly. 
"  He  done  me  on  that  Horse-trade,  an'  crowded  me 
on  my  note  so  I  had  to  pay  it  off  with  oats  at  sixty 
cents,  then  he  turned  round  and  sold  them  within 
half  an  hour  for  seventy-five  cents.  We  had  words 
right  there,  an'  I  believe  I  did  say  I'd  fix  him  for  it. 
I  left  Downey's  Dump  early  that  day.  He  had  about 
$300  in  his  pocket — $300  of  my  money — the  last  I 
had  in  the  world.  He  was  too  late  to  bank  it,  so  was 
taking  it  home,  when  he  was  fired  at  in  going  through 
the  ' '  green  bush. ' '  My  tobacco  pouch  and  some  letters 
addressed  to  me  was  found  there  in  the  morning. 
jrj  Course  he  blamed  me,  but  I  didn't  have  any  shootin'- 
iron  then;  my  revolver,  the  white  one,  was  stole  from 
(  me  a  week  before — along  with  them  same  letters,  I 
expect.  I  consider  they  was  put  there  to  lay  the 
blame  on  me,  an'  it  was  a  little  overdone,  most  folks 
would  think.  Well,  then  your  Da  set  Dick  Pogue  on 
me,  an'  I  lost  my  farm — that's  all." 

Sam  smoked  gravely  for  awhile,  then  continued: 

"That's  true  about  the  note  an'  the  oats  an'  the 
Horse-trade — just  what  Da  would  do;  that's  all  in  the 
game:  but  you're  all  wrong  about  Dick  Pogue — that's 
too  dirty  for  Da.  " 

"  You  may  think  so,  but  I  don\  " 

Sam  made  no  answer,  but  after  a  minute  laid  his 
hand  on  Turk,  who  responded  with  a  low  growl. 
This  made  Caleb  continue:  "Down  on  me,  down  on 


464 


The  Banshee's  Wail  and  the  Huge  Night  Prowler 

my  Dog.  Pogue  says  he  kills  Sheep  'an'  every  one  is 
ready  to  believe  it.  I  never  knowed  a  Hound  turn 
Sheep-killer,  an'  I  never  knowed  a  Sheep-killer  kill 
at  home,  an'  I  never  knowed  a  Sheep-killer  content 
with  one  each  night,  an'  I  never  knowed  a  Sheep- 
killer  leave  no  tracks,  an'  Sheep  was  killed  again 
and  again  when  Turk  was  locked  up  in  the  shanty 
with  me. " 

"Well,  whose  Dog  is  it  does  it  ? " 

"  I  don't  know  as  it's  any  Dog,  for  part  of  the  Sheep 
was  eat  each  time,  they  say,  though  I  never  seen  one 
o'  them  that  was  killed  or  I  could  tell.  It's  more 
likely  a  Fox  or  a  Lynx  than  a  Dog. " 

There  was  a  long  silence,  then  outside  again  the 
hair-lifting  screech  to  which  the  Dog  paid  no  heed, 
although  the  Trapper  and  the  boy  were  evidently 
startled  and  scared. 

They  made  up  a  blazing  fire  and  turned  in  silently 
for  the  night. 

The  rain  came  down  steadily,  and  the  wind  swept 
by  in  gusts.  It  was  the  Banshee's  hour,  and  two  or 
three  times,  as  they  were  dropping  off,  that  fearful, 
quavering  human  wail,  "like  a  woman  in  distress," 
came  from  the  woods  to  set  their  hearts  a-jumping, 
not  Caleb  and  Sam  only,  but  all  four. 

In  the  diary  which  Yan  kept  of  those  times  each 
day  was  named  after  its  event ;  there  was  Deer  day, 
Skunk-and-Cat  day,  Blue  Crane  day,  and  this  was 
noted  down  as  the  night  of  the  Banshee's  wailing. 

Caleb  was  up  and  had  breakfast  ready  before  the 

46$ 


Two  Little  Savages 


others  were  fully  awake.  They  had  carefully  kep. 
and  cleaned  the  Coon  meat,  and  Caleb  made  of  it  a 
"prairie  pie,"  in  which  bacon,  potatoes,  bread,  one 
small  onion  and  various  scraps  of  food  were  made 
/  important.  This,  'warmed  up  for  breakfast  and 
washed  down  with  coffee,  made  a  royal  meal,  and 
feasting  they  forgot  the  fears  of  the  night. 

The  rain  was  over,  but  the  wind  kept  on.  Great 
blockish  clouds  were  tumbling  across  the  upper  sky. 
Yan  went  out  to  look  for  tracks.  He  found  none 
but  those  of  raindrops. 

The  day  was  spent  chiefly-  about  camp,  making 
arrows  and  painting  the  teepee. 

Again  Caleb  was  satisfied  to  sleep  in  the  camp. 
The  Banshee  called  once  that  night,  and  again  Turk 
seemed  not  to  hear,  but  half  an  hour  later  there  was 
a  different  and  much  lower  sound  outside,  a  light, 
nasal  "wow.  "  The  boys  scarcely  heard  it,  but  Turk 
sprang  up  with  bristling  hair,  growling,  and  forcing 
his  way  out  under  the  door,  he  ran,  loudly  barking, 
into  the  woods. 

"He's  after  something  now,  all  right,"  said  his 
master;  "and  now  he's  treed  it,"  as  the  Dog  began 
his  high-pitched  yelps. 

"Good  old  Dog;  he's  treed  the  Banshee,"  and  Yan 
rushed  out  into  the  darkness.  The  others  followed, 
and  they  found  Turk  barking  and  scratching  at  a  big 
leaning  Beech,  but  could  get  no  hint  of  what  the 
creature  up  it  might  be  like. 

"  How  does  he  usually  bark  for  a  Banshee  ? "  asked 


466 


The  Banshee's  Wail  and  the  Huge  Night  Prowler 

the  Woodpecker,  but  got  no  satisfaction,  and  wonder 
ing  why  Turk  should  bother  himself  so  mightily  over 
a  little  squeal  and  never  hear  that  awful  scream, 
they  retired  to  camp. 

Next  morning  in  the  mud  not  far  from  the  teepee 
Yan  found  the  track  of  a  common  Cat,  and  shrewdly 
guessed  that  this  was  the  prowler  that  had  been  heard 
and  treed  by  the  Dog;  probably  it  was  his  old  friend 
of  the  Skunk  fight.  The  wind  was  still  high,  and 
as  Yan  pored  over  the  tracks  he  heard  for  the  first 
time  in  broad  daylight  the  appalling  screech.  It 
certainly  was  loud,  though  less  dreadful  than  at  night, 
and  peering  up  Yan  saw  two  large  limbs  that  crossed 
and  rubbed  each  other,  when  the  right  puff  of  wind  came. 
This  was  the  Banshee  that  did  the  wailing  that  had 
scared  them  all — all  but  the  Dog.  His  keener  senses, 
unspoiled  by  superstition,  had  rightly  judged  the 
awful  sound  as  the  harmless  scraping  of  two  limbs 
in  the  high  wind,  but  the  lower,  softer  noise  made 
by  the  prowling  Cat  he  had  just  as  truly  placed  and 
keenly  followed  up. 

Guy  was  the  only  one  not  convinced.  He  clung 
to  his  theory  of  Bears. 

Late  in  the  night  the  two  Chiefs  were  awakened 
by  Guy.  "Say,  Sam — Sam,  Yan — Yan — Yan — Yan, 
get  up;  that  big  Bear  is  'round  again.  I  told  you 
there  was  a  Bear,  an'  you  wouldn't  believe  me." 

There  was  a  loud  champing  sound  outside,  and 
occasionally  growls  or  grumbling. 

467 


Two  Little  Savages 


"There's  surely  something  there,  Sam.  I  wish 
Turk  and  Caleb  were  here  now. " 

The  boys  opened  the  door  a  little  and  peered  out. 
There,  looming  up  in  the  dim  starlight,  was  a  huge 
black  animal,  piclring  up  scraps  of  meat  and  digging 
up  the  tins  that  were  buried  in  the  garbage  hole. 
All  doubts  were  dispelled.  Guy  had  another  triumph, 
and  he  would  have  expressed  his  feelings  to  the  full 
but  for  fear  of  the  monster  outside. 

"What  had  we  better  do?" 

"Better  not  shoot  him  with  arrows.  That'll  only 
rile  him.  Guy,  you  blow  up  the  coals  and  get  a  blaze. ' ' 

All  was  intense  excitement  now.  "Oh,  why 
haven't  we  got  a  gun!" 

"Say,  Sam,  while  Sap — I  mean  Hawkeye — makes 
a  blaze,  let's  you  and  me  shoot  with  blunt  arrows, 
if  the  Bear  comes  toward  the  teepee."  So  they 
arranged  themselves,  Guy  puttering  in  terror  at  the 
fire  and  begging  them  not  to  shoot. 

"What's  the  good  o'  riling  him?  It— it— it's 
croo-oo-el. " 

Sam  and  Yan  stood  with  bows  ready  and  arrows 
nocked. 

Guy  was  making  a  failure  of  the  fire,  and  the  Bear 
began  nosing  nearer,  champing  his  teeth  and  grunting. 
Now  the  boys  could  see  the  great  ears  as  the  monster 
threw  up  its  head. 

"Let's  shoot  before  he  gets  any  nearer."  At 
this  Guy  promptly  abandoned  further  attempts  to 


468 


The  Banshee's  Wail  and  the  Huge  Night  Prowler 

make  a  fire  and  scrambled  up  on  a  cross  stick  that 
was  high  in  the  teepee  for  hanging  the  pot.  He  broke 
out  into  tears  when  he  saw  Sam  and  Yan  actually 
drawing  their  bows. 

"He'll  come  in  and  eat  us,  he  will." 

But  the  Bear  was  coming  anyway,  and  having  the 
two  tomahawks  ready,  the  boys  let  fly.  At  once  the 
Bear  wheeled  and  ran  off,  uttering  the  loud,  unmis 
takable  squeal  of  an  old  Pig — Burns's  own  Pig — for 
young  Burns  had  again  forgotten  to  put  up  the  bars 
that  crossed  his  trail  from  the  homestead  to  the  camp. 

Guy  came  down  quickly  to  join  in  the  laugh.  "I 
tole  you  fellers  not  to  shoot.  I  just  believed  it  was 
our  old  Hog,  an'  I  couldn't  help  crying  when  I  thought 
how  mad  Paw'd  be  when  he  found  out.  " 

"I  s'pose  you  got  up  on  that  cross  pole  to  see  if 
Paw  was  coming,  didn't  you  ? " 

"  No ;  he  got  up  there  to  show  how  brave  he  was.  " 

This  was  the  huge  night  prowler  that  Guy  had  seen, 
and  in  the  morning  one  more  mystery  was  explained, 
for  careful  examination  of  Yan's  diary  of  the  big 
Buck's  track  showed  that  it  was  nothing  more  than 
the  track  of  Burns's  old  Hog.  Why  had  Caleb  and 
Raften  both  been  mistaken?  First,  because  it  was 
a  long  time  since  they  had  seen  a  Buck  track,  and 
second,  because  this  Pig  happened  to  have  a  very 
unpiggy  foot — one  as  much  like  that  of  a  Buck  as 
of  a  Hog. 


469 


XXIV 
Hawkeye  Gaims  Another  Grand  Coup 

I  wa  wa  wa  wa  !  Wa  wa  wa  wa  wa !  Wa  wa 
WCL  wa  wa  ! "  Three  times  it  echoed  through 
the  woods — a  loud,  triumphant  cry. 

"That's  Hawkeye  with  a  big  story  of  bravery;  let's 
hide." 

So  Sam  and  Yan  scrambled  quickly  into  the  teepee, 
hid  behind  the  lining  and  watched  through  an  '  'arrow 
hole."  Guy  came  proudly  stepping,  chin  in  air, 
uttering  his  war-whoop  at  intervals  as  he  drew  near, 
and  carrying  his  coat  bundled  up  under  one  arm. 

"Coup  I  Grand  coup  !  Wa  wa  wa  wa / "  he  yelled 
again  and  again,  but  looked  simple  and  foolish  when 
he  found  the  camp  apparently  deserted. 

So  he  ceased  his  yells  and,  walking  deliberately  into 
the  teepee,  pulled  out  the  sugar  box  and  was  stuffing 
a  handful  into  his  mouth  when  the  other  two  Chiefs 
let  off  their  wildest  howls  and,  leaping  from  their 
concealment,  chased  him  into  the  woods — not  far,  for 
Yan  laughed  too  much,  and  Sam  had  on  but  one  boot. 

This  was  their  re-gathering  after  a  new  search  for 
adventures.  Early  in  the  morning,  as  he  wiped  off 
the  breakfast  knives  by  sticking  them  into  the  sod, 
the  Second  War  Chief  had  suggested:  "Say,  boys,  in 
old  days  Warriors  would  sometimes  set  out  in  different 

47° 


Hawkeye  Claims  Another  Grand  Coup 

directions  in  search  of  adventure,  then  agree  to  meet 
at  a  given  time.  Let's  do  that  to-day  and  see  what 
we  run  across. " 

"Get  your  straws,"  was  Woodpecker's  reply,  as  he 
returned  from  putting  the  scraps  on  the  Wakan  Rock. 

"  No  you  don't,' '  put  in  Hawkeye  hastily ;  "  at  least, 
not  unless  you  let  me  hold  the  straws.  I  know  you'll 
fix  it  so  I'll  have  to  go  home. " 

"All  right.  You  can  hold  the  three  straws;  long 
one  is  Woodpecker — that's  his  head  with  a  bit  of  red 
flannel  to  prevent  mistakes;  the  middle-sized  thin  one 
is  me ;  and  the  short  fat  one  is  you.  Now  let  them 
drop.  Sudden  death  and  no  try  over. " 

The  straws  fell,  and  the  two  boys  gave  a  yell  as 
Hawkeye 's  fate  pointed  straight  to  the  Burns  home 
stead. 

"Oh,  get  out ;  that's  no  good.  We'll  take  the  other 
end,"  he  said  angrily,  and  persisted  in  going  the 
opposite  way. 

"Now  we  all  got  to  go  straight  till  we  find  some 
thing,  and  meet  here  again  when  that  streak  of  sun 
light  gets  around  in  the  teepee  to  that  pcle. " 

As  the  sunstreak,  which  was  their  Indian  clock, 
travelled  just  about  one  pole  for  two  hours,  this 
gave  about  four  hours  for  adventures. 

Sam  and  Yan  had  been  back  some  minutes,  and 
now  Guy,  having  recovered  his  composure,  bothered 
not  to  wipe  the  stolen  sugar  from  his  lips,  but  broke 
out  eagerly: 

"Say,  fellers,  I  bet  I'm  the  bully  boy.     I  bet  you 


Two  Little  Savages 

11  Silence  ! "  roared  Woodpecker.   n  You  come  last. " 

"All  right;  I  don't  care.  I  bet  I  win  over  all  of 
you.  I  bet  a  million  dollars  I  do.  " 

"  Go  ahead,  Chief  Woodpecker-settin'-on-the-edge.  " 

So  Sam  began: 

"I  pulls  on  my  boots"  [he  went  barefooted  half 
the  time].  "Oh,  I  tell  you  I  know  when  to  wear  my 
boots — an'  I  set  out  following  my  straw  line  straight 
out.  I  don't  take  no  back  track.  Pm  not  scared  of 
the  front  trail,  "  and  he  turned  his  little  slit  eyes  sadly 
on  Guy,  "and  I  kep'  right  on,  and  when  I  came  to 
the  dry  bed  of  the  creek  it  didn't  turn  me\  no,  not  a 
dozen  rods;  and  I  kept  right  till  I  came  to  a  Wasp's 
nest,  and  I  turned  and  went  round  that  cozit's  cruel 
to  go  blundering  into  a  nest  of  a  lot  of  poor  inno 
cent  little  Wasps — and  I  kep'  on,  till  I  heard  a  low 
growl,  and  I  looked  up  and  didn't  see  a  thing.  Then 
the  growling  got  louder,  and  I  seen  it  was  a  hungry 
Chipmunk  roaring  at  me  and  jest  getting  ready  to 
spring.  Then  when  I  got  out  my  bonearrer  he  says 
to  me,  he  says,  as  bold  as  brass:  'Is  your  name 
Woodpecker?'  Now  that  scared  me,  and  so  I  told  a 
lie — my  very  first.  I  says,  says  I :  '  No, '  says  I.  '  I'm 
Hawkeye. '  Well,  you  should  'a'  seen  him.  He  just 
turned  pale ;  every  stripe  on  his  back  faded  when  I  said 
that  name,  and  he  made  for  a  hollow  log  and  got  in. 
Now  I  was  mad,  and  tried  to  get  him  out,  but  when 
I'd  run  to  one  end  he'd  run  to  the  other,  so  we  ran 
up  and  down  till  I  had  a  deep-worn  trail  alongside 
the  log,  an'  he  had  a  deep-worn  trail  inside  the  log, 


472 


Hawkeye  Claims  Another  Grand  Coup 

an'  I  was  figgerin'  to  have  him  wear  it  right  through 
at  the  bottom  so  the  log'd  open,  but  all  of  a  sudden 
I  says,  '  I  know  what  to  do  for  you. '  I  took  off  my 
boot  and  stuffs  the  leg  into  one  end  of  the  log.  Then 
I  rattles  a  stick  at  the  other  end  and  I  heard  him  run 
into  the  boot.  Then  I  squeezes  in  the  leg  and  ties 
a  string  around  it  an'  brings  him  home,  me  wearing 
one  boot  and  the  Chipmunk  the  other,  and  there  he 
is  in  it  now,"  and  Sam  curled  up  his  free  bunch  of 
toes  in  graphic  comment  and  added:  "Humph!  I 
s'pose  you  fellers  thought  I  didn't  know  what  I  was 
about  when  I  drawed  on  my  long  boots  this  morning.  " 

"Well,  I  just  want  to  see  that  Chipmunk  an'  maybe 
I'll  believe  you. " 

"In  there  hunting  for  a  loose  patch,"  and  Sam 
held  up  the  boot. 

"Let's  turn  him  out,"  suggested  the  Second 
Chief. 

So  the  string  was  cut  and  the  Chipmunk  scrambled 
out  and  away  to  a  safer  refuge. 

"Now,  sonny,"  said  Sam,  as  it  disappeared,  "don't 
tell  your  folks  what  happened  you  or  they'll  swat 
you  for  a  liar." 

"Oh,  shucks  !  That's  no  adventure.     Why,  I— 

"  Hold  on,  Hawkeye;  Little  Beaver  next." 

"Well,  I  don't  care.     I  bet  I " 

Sam  grabbed  his  knife  and  interrupted:  "Do  you 
know  what  Callahan's  spring  lamb  did  when  it  saw 
the  old  man  gathering  mint  ?  Go  ahead,  Little 
Beaver." 


473 


Two  Little  Savages 

"I  hadn't  much  of  an  adventure,  but  I  went  straight 
through  the  woods  where  my  straw  pointed  and  ran 
into  a  big  dead  stub.  It  was  too  old  and  rotten  for 
Birds  to  use  now,  as  well  as  too  late  in  the  season,  so 
I  got  a  pole  and  pushed  it  over,  and  I  found  the  whole 
history  of  a  tenement  in  that  stub.  First  of  all,  a 
Flicker  had  come  years  ago  and  dug  out  a  fine  big 
nesting-place,  and  used  it  maybe  two  or  three  times. 
When  he  was  through,  or  maybe  between  seasons, 
the  Chickadees  made  a  winter  den  of  it,  for  there 
were  some  Chickadee  tail-feathers  in  the  bottom. 
Next  a  Purple  Blackbird  came  and  used  the  hole, 
piling  up  a  lot  of  roots  with  mud  on  them.  Next 
year  it  seems  it  came  again  and  made  another  nest 
on  top  of  the  last ;  then  that  winter  the  Chickadees 
again  used  it  for  a  cubby-hole,  for  there  were  some 
more  Chickadee  feathers.  Next  year  a  Blue  Jay 
found  it  out  and  nested  there.  I  found  some  of  her 
egg-shells  among  the  soft  stuff  of  the  nest.  Then  I 
suppose  a  year  after  a  pair  of  Sparrow-hawks  hap 
pened  on  the  place,  found  it  suited  them,  and  made 
their  nest  in  it  and  hatched  a  brood  of  little  Sparrow- 
hawks.  Well,  one  day  this  bold  robber  brought 
home  to  his  little  ones  a  Shrew." 

"What's  that?" 

"Oh,  a  little  thing  like  a  Mouse,  only  it  isn't  a 
Mouse  at  all;  it  is  second  cousin  to  a  Mole." 

"I  allus  thought  a  Mole  was  a  Mouse  specie," 
remarked  Hawkeye,  not  satisfied  with  Yan's  dis 
tinction. 


474 


Hawkeye  Claims  Another  Grand  Coup 

"Oh, you  !  "  interrupted  Sam.  "  You'll  try  to  make 
out  the  Burnses  is  some  kin  to  the  Raftens  next." 

"  I  bet  I  won't  ! "  and  for  once  Guy  got  even. 

"Well,"  Yan  continued,  "it  so  happened — about 
the  first  time  in  about  a  million  years — the  little 
Hawks  were  not  hungry  just  then.  The  Shrew 
wasn't  gobbled  up  at  once,  and  though  wounded,  it 
set  to  work  to  escape  as  soon  as  it  was  free  of  the  old 
one's  claws.  First  it  hid  under  the  little  ones,  then 
it  began  to  burrow  down  through  the  feather-bed  of 
the  Sparrow-hawk's  nest,  then  through  the  Blue 
Jay's  nest,  then  through  the  soft  stuff  of  the  Black 
bird's  nest  and  among  the  old  truck  left  by  the 
Chickadees  till  it  struck  the  hard  mud  floor  of  the 
Blackbird's  nest,  and  through  that  it  could  not  dig. 
Its  strength  gave  out  now,  and  it  died  there  and  lay 
hidden  in  the  lowest  nest  of  the  house,  till  years 
after  I  came  by  and  broke  open  the  old  stub  and 
made  it  tell  me  a  sad  and  mournful  story — that — 
maybe — never  happened  at  all.  But  there's  the 
drawing  I  made  of  it  at  the  place,  showing  all  the 
nests  just  as  I  found  them,  and  there's  the  dried  up 
body  of  the  little  Shrew." 

Sam  listened  with  intense  interest,  but  Guy  was  at 
no  pains  to  conceal  his  contempt.  "Oh,  pshaw! 
That's  no  adventure — just  a  whole  lot  of  's'posens' 
without  a  blame  thing  doing.  Now  I'll  tell  you 
what  I  done.  I " 

"  Now,  Hawkeye,"  Sam  put  in,  "please  don't  be 
rough  about  it.  Leave  out  the  awful  things:  I  ain't 


475 


Two  Little  Savages 

well  to-day.  You  keep  back  the  scary  parts  till 
to-morrow." 

' '  I  tell  you  I  left  here  and  went  straight  as  a 
die,  an'  I  seen  a  Woodchuck,  but  he  wasn't  in  line, 
so  I  says:  'No;  some  other  day.  I  kin  get  you  easy 
any  time.'  Then  I  seen  a  Hawk  going  off  with  a 
Chicken,  but  that  was  off  my  beat,  an'  I  found  lots  o' 
old  stumps  an'  hundreds  o'  Chipmunks  an'  wouldn't 
be  bothered  with  them.  Then  I  come  to  a  farmhouse 
an' — an'  I  went  around  that  so's  not  to  scare  the 
Dog,  an'  I  went  pretty  near  as  far  as  Downey's 
Dump — yes,  a  little  a-past  it — only  to  one  side — when 
up  jumps  a  Partridge  as  big  as  a  Turkey,  an'  a  hull 
gang  of  young  ones — about  thirty  or  forty.  I  bet  I 
Yx*\  seen  them  forty  rod  away,  an'  they  all  flew,  but  one 
^  that  lighted  on  a  tree  as  far  as — oh,  'cross  that  field, 
anyway.  I  bet  you  fellers  wouldn't  'a'  seen  it  at  all. 
Well,  I  jest  hauled  off  as  ca'm  as  ca'm  an'  let  him 
X  have  it.  I  aimed  straight  for  his  eye — an'  that's 
where  I  hit  him.  Now  who  gets  a  grand  coup,  for 
there  he  is!"  Hawkeye  unrolled  his  coat  and  turned 
out  a  bobtailed  young  Robin  in  the  speckled  plumage, 
shot  through  the  body. 

"So  that's  your  Partridge.  I  call  that  a  young 
Robin,"  said  the  First  Chief  with  slow  emphasis. 
"Rules  is  broke.  Killed  a  Song-bird.  Little  Beaver, 
arrest  the  criminal." 

But  Hawkeye  struggled  with  all  the  ferocity 
born  of  his  recent  exploit,  and  had  to  be  bound 
hand  and  foot  while  a  full  Council  was  called  to  try 


Hawkeye  Claims  Another  Grand  Coup 

the  case.  The  angry  protests  weakened  when  he 
found  how  serious  the  Councillors  were.  Finally 
he  pleaded  "guilty"  and  was  condemned  to  wear 
a  black  feather  of  disgrace  and  a  white  feather  for 
cowardice  for  three  days,  as  well  as  wash  the  dishes 
for  a  week.  They  would  also  have  made  him  cook 
for  that  term,  but  that  they  had  had  some  unhappy 
experiences  with  some  dishes  of  Guy's  make. 

"Well,  I  won't  do  it,  that's  all,"  was  the  prisoner's 
defiant  retort.  "  I'll  go  home  first." 

"  And  hoe  the  garden  ?     Oh,  yes ;  I  think  I  see  you." 

"Well,  I  won't  do  it.     You  better  let  me  'lone." 

"Little  Beaver,  what  do  they  do  when  an  Injun 
won't  obey  the  Council?" 

"Strip  him  of  his  honours.  Do  you  remember 
that  stick  we  burned  with  'Sapwood'  on  it?" 

"Good  idee.  We'll  burn  Hawkeye  for  a  name 
and  dig  up  the  old  one," 

"No,  you  won't,  you  dirty  mean  Skunks!  Ye 
promised  me  you'd  never  call  me  that  again.  I  am 

Hawkeye.  I  kin  see  farder'n — n '  and  he 

began  to  weep. 

"Well,  will  you  obey  the  Council?" 

"Yes;  but  I  won't  wear  no  white  feather — I'm 
brave,  boohoo!" 

"All  right.  We'll  leave  that  off;  but  you  must 
do  the  other  punishments. 

"Will  I  still  be  Hawkeye?" 

"Yes." 

"All  right.     I'll  do  it." 

477 


XXV 
The  Three-Fingered  Tramp* 

BROAD-SHOULDERED,  beetle-browed,  brutal 
and  lazy  was  Bill  Hennard,  son  of  a  prosperous 
settler.  He  had  inherited  a  fine  farm,  but  he  was 
as  lazy  as  he  was  strong,  and  had  soon  run  through  his 
property  and  followed  the  usual  course  from  laziness 
to  crime.  Bill  had  seen  the  inside  of  more  than  one 
jail.  He  was  widely  known  in  the  adjoining  town 
ship  of  Emolan;  many  petty  thefts  were  traced  to 
him,  and  it  was  openly  stated  that  but  for  the  help 
of  a  rich  and  clever  confederate  he  would  certainly  be 
in  the  penitentiary.  It  was  darkly  hinted,  further, 
that  this  confederate  was  a  well-to-do  Sangerite  who 
had  many  farms  and  a  wife  and  son  and  a  little  daugh 
ter,  and  his  first  name  was  William,  and  his  second 

name  Ra "But  never  mind;  and  don't  for  the 

world  say  I  told  you."  Oh,  it's  easy  to  get  rich — if 
you  know  how.  Of  course,  these  rumours  never 
reached  the  parties  chiefly  concerned. 

Hennard  had  left  Downey's  Dump  the  evening 
before,  and  avoiding  the  roads,  had  struck  through  the 
woods,  to  visit  his  partner,  with  important  matters 
to  arrange — very  important  for  Hennard.  He  was 
much  fuddled  when  he  left  Downey's,  the  night 
was  cloudy,  and  consequently  he  had  wandered 

478 


The  Three-Fingered  Tramp 

round  and  round  till  he  was  completely  lost.  He 
slept  under  a  tree  (a  cold,  miserable  sleep  it  was),  and 
in  the  sunless  morning  he  set  out  with  little  certainty 
to  find  his  "pal."  After  some  time  he  stumbled 
on  the  trail  that  led  him  to  the  boys'  camp.  He  was 
now  savage  with  hunger  and  annoyance,  and  reckless 
with  bottle  assistance,  for  he  carried  a  flask.  No 
longer  avoiding  being  seen,  he  walked  up  to  the  teepee 
just  as  Little  Beaver  was  frying  meat  for  the  noon 
day  meal  he  expected  to  eat  alone.  At  the  sound  of 
footsteps  Yan  turned ,  supposing  that  one  of  his  com 
panions  had  come  back,  but  there  instead  was  a  big, 
rough-looking  tramp. 

"Well,  sonny,  cookin'  dinner?  I'll  be  glad  to  j'ine 
ye,"  he  said  with  an  unpleasant  and  fawning  smile. 

His  manner  was  as  repulsive  as  it  could  be,  though 
he  kept  the  form  of  politeness. 

"Where's  your  folks,  sonny?" 

"Haven't  any — here,"  replied  Yan,  in  some  fear, 
remembering  now  the  tramps  of  Glenyan . 

"H-m — all  alone — camped  all  alone,  are  ye?" 

"The  other  fellers  are  awray  till  the  afternoon." 

"Wall,  how  nice.  Glad  to  know  it.  I'll  trouble 
you  to  hand  me  that  stick,"  and  now  the  tramp's 
manner  changed  from  fawning  to  command,  as  he 
pointed  to  Yan's  bow  hanging  unstrung. 

"That's  my  bow!"  replied  Yan,  in  fear  and 
indignation. 

"I  won't  tell  ye  a  second  time — hand  me  that 
stick,  or  I'll  spifflicate  ye." 


Two  Little  Savages 

Yan  stood  still.  The  desperado  strode  forward, 
seized  the  bow,  and  gave  him  two  or  three  blows  on 
the  back  and  legs. 

"Now,  you  young  Pup,  get  me  my  dinner,  and 
be  quick  about  it,  or  I'll  break  yer  useless  neck. " 

Yan  now  realized  that  he  had  fallen  into  the  power 
of  the  worst  enemy  of  the  harmless  camper,  and  saw 
too  late  the  folly  of  neglecting  Raften's  advice  to 
have  a  big  Dog  in  camp.  He  glanced  around  and 
would  have  run,  but  the  tramp  was  too  quick  for 
him  and  grabbed  him  by  the  collar.  "Oh,  no  you 
don't;  hold  on,  sonny.  I'll  fix  you  so  you'll  do  as 
you're  told."  He  cut  the  bowstring  from  its  place, 
and  violently  throwing  Yan  down,  he  tied  his  feet 
so  that  they  had  about  eighteen  inches'  play. 

"  Now  rush  around  and  get  my  dinner;  I'm  hungry. 
An'  don't  you  spile  it  in  the  cooking  or  I'll  use  the  gad 
on  you;  an'  if  you  holler  or  cut  that  cord  I'll  kill  ye. 
See  that  ?"  and  he  got  out  an  ugly-looking  knife. 

Tears  of  fear  and  pain  ran  down  Yan's  face  as  he 
limped  about  to  obey  the  brute's  orders. 

"Here,  you  move  a  little  faster!"  and  the  tramp 
turned  from  poking  the  fire  with  the  bow  to  give 
another  sounding  blow.  If  he  had  looked  down  the 
trail  he  would  have  seen  a  small  tow-topped  figure 
that  turned  and  scurried  away  at  the  sound. 

Yan  was  trained  to  bear  punishment,  but  the 
tyrant  seemed  careless  of  even  his  life. 

"Are  you  going  to  kill  me?"  he  burst  out,  after 
another  attack  for  stumbling  in  his  shackles. 

482 


The  Three-Fingered  Tramp 

"Don't  know  but  I  will  when  I've  got  through 
with  ye,"  replied  the  desperado  with  brutal  coolness. 
"I'll  take  some  more  o'  that  meat — an'  don't  you  let 
it  burn,  neither.  Where's  the  sugar  for  the  coffee? 
I'll  get  a  bigger  club  if  ye  don't  look  spry,"  and  so 
the  tramp  was  served  with  his  meal.  "Now  bring 
me  some  tobaccer. " 

Yan  hobbled  into  the  teepee  and  reached  down 
Sam's  tobacco  bag. 

"Here,  what's  that  box?  Bring  that  out  here," 
and  the  tramp  pointed  to  the  box  in  which  they 
kept  some  spare  clothes.  Yan  obeyed  in  fear  and 
trembling.  "Open  it." 

"I  can't.     It's  locked,  and  Sam  has  the  key." 

"He  has,  has  he?  Well,  I  have  a  key  that  will 
open  it, "  and  so  he  smashed  the  lid  with  the  axe ;  then 
he  went  through  the  pockets,  got  Yan's  old  silver 
watch  and  chain,  and  in  Sam's  trousers  pocket  he 
got  two  dollars. 

"Ha!  That's  just  what  I  want,  sonny,"  and  the 
tramp  put  them  in  his  own  pockets.  "  'Pears  to  me  the 
fire  needs  a  little  wood,"  he  remarked,  as  his  eye  fell 
on  Yan's  quiverful  of  arrows,  and  he  gave  that  a 
kick  that  sent  many  of  them  into  the  blaze. 

"  Now,  sonny,  don't  look  at  me  quite  so  hard,  like 
you  was  taking  notes,  or  I  may  have  to  cut  your 
throat  and  put  you  in  the  swamp  hole  to  keep  ye 
from  telling  tales." 

Yan  was  truly  in  terror  of  his  life  now. 

"  Bring  me  the  whetstone,"  the  tyrant  growled,  "an' 

483 


Two  Little  Savages 

some  more  coffee."  Yan  did  so.  The  tramp  began 
whetting  his  long,  knife,  and  Yan  saw  two  things 
that  stuck  in  his  memory:  first,  the  knife,  which  was 
of  hunting  pattern,  had  a  brass  Deer  on  the  handle; 
second,  the  hand  that  grasped  it  had  only  three 
fingers. 

"What's  that  other  box  in  there?" 

"That's — that's — only  our  food  box." 

"You  lie  to  me,  will  ye?"  and  again  the  stick 
descended.  "Haul  it  out." 

"I  can't." 

"Haul  it  out  or  I'll  choke  ye." 

Yan  tried,  but  it  was  too  heavy. 

"  Get  out,  you  useless  Pup  !  "  and  the  tramp  walked 
into  the  teepee  and  gave  Yan  a  push  that  sent  him 
headlong  out  on  the  ground. 

The  boy  was  badly  bruised,  but  saw  his  only 
chance.  The  big  knife  was  there.  He  seized  it, 
cut  the  cord  on  his  legs,  flung  the  knife  afar  in  the 
swamp  and  ran  like  a  Deer.  The  tramp  rushed 
out  of  the  teepee  yelling  and  cursing.  Yan  might  have 
gotten  away  had  he  been  in  good  shape,  but  the 
tramp's  cruelty  really  had  crippled  him,  and 
the  brute  was  rapidly  overtaking  him.  As  he  sped 
down  the  handiest,  the  south  trail,  he  sighted  in 
the  trees  ahead  a  familiar  figure,  and  yelling  with 
all  his  remaining  strength,  "Caleb!  Caleb!!  Caleb 
Clark  ! ! !  "  he  fell  swooning  in  the  grass. 

There  is  no  mistaking  the  voice  of  dire  distress. 
Caleb  hurried  up,  and  with  one  impulse  lie  and  the 


484 


The  Three-Fingered  Tramp 

tramp  grappled  in  deadly  struggle.  Turk  was  not 
with  his  master,  and  the  tramp  had  lost  his  knife,  so 
it  was  a  hand-to-hand  conflict.  A  few  clinches,  a 
few  heavy  blows,  and  it  was  easy  to  see  who  must 
win.  Caleb  was  old  and  slight.  The  tramp,  strong, 
heavy-built,  and  just  drunk  enough  to  be  dangerous, 
was  too  much  for  him,  and  after  a  couple  of  rounds 
the  Trapper  fell  writhing  with  a  foul  blow.  The 
tramp  felt  again  for  his  knife,  swore  savagely, 
looked  around  for  a  club,  found  only  a  big  stone, 
and  would  have  done  no  one  knows  what,  when  there 
was  a  yell  from  behind,  another  big  man  crashed 
down  the  trail,  and  the  tramp  faced  William  Raften, 
puffing  and  panting,  with  Guy  close  behind.  The 
stone  meant  for  Caleb  he  hurled  at  William,  who 
dodged  it,  and  now  there  was  an  even  fight.  Had 
the  tramp  had  his  knife  it  might  have  gone  hard 
with  Raften,  but  fist  to  fist  the  farmer  had  the  odds. 
His  old-time  science  turned  the  day,  and  the  desper 
ado  went  down  with  a  crusher  "straight  from  the 
shoulder. 

It  seemed  a  veritable  battle-field — three  on  the 
ground  and  Raften,  red -faced  and  puffing,  but  sturdy 
and  fearless,  standing  in  utter  perplexity. 

"  Phwhat  the  divil  does  it  all  mane?" 

"I'll  tell  you,  Mr.  Raften,"  chirped  in  Guy,  as  he 
stole  from  his  safe  shelter. 

"Oh,  ye 're  here,  are  ye,  Guy?  Go  and  git  a  rope 
at  camp — quick  now,"  as  the  tramp  began  to  move. 

As  soon  as  the  rope  came  Raften  tied  the  fellow's 
arms  safely. 

485 


Two  Little  Savages 

"  Tears  to  me  Oi've  sane  that  hand  befoore," 
remarked  Raften,  as  the  three  fingers  caught  his 
eye. 

Yan  was  now  sitting  up,  gazing  about  in  a  dazed 
way.  Raften  went  over  to  his  old  partner  and  said: 
"Caleb,  air  ye  hurrt  ?  It's  me— it's  Bill  Raften. 
Air  ye  hurrt  ? ' ' 

Caleb  rolled  his  eyes  and  looked  around. 

Yan  came  over  now  and  knelt  down.  "Are  you 
hurt,  Mr.  Clark?" 

He  shook  his  head  and  pointed  to  his  chest. 

"He's  got  his  wind  knocked  out,"  Raften  explained ; 
"he'll  be  all  right  in  a  minute  or  two.  Guy,  bring 
some  wather." 

Yan  told  his  story  and  Guy  supplied  an  important 
chapter.  He  had  returned  earlier  than  expected, 
and  was  near  to  camp,  when  he  heard  the  tramp 
beating  Yan.  His  first  impulse  to  run  home  to  his 
puny  father  was  replaced  with  the  wiser  one  to  go 
for  brawny  Mr.  Raften. 

The  tramp  was  now  sitting  up  and  grumbling 
savagely. 

"Now,  me  foine  feller,"  said  William.  "We'll 
take  ye  back  to  camp  for  a  little  visit  before  we  take 
ye  to  the  'Pen.'  A  year  in  the  cooler  will  do  ye 
moore  good,  Oi'm  thinkin',  than  anny  other  trate- 
ment.  Here,  Guy,  you  take  the  end  av  the  rope 
and  fetch  the  feller  to  camp,  while  I  help  Caleb." 

Guy  was  in  his  glory.  The  tramp  was  forced  to  go 
ahead;  Guy  followed,  jerking  the  rope  and  playing 

486 


The  Three-Fingered  Tramp 


Horse,  shouting,  "Ch' — ch' — ch' — get  up,  Horsey/' 
while  William  helped  old  Caleb  with  a  gentleness 
that  recalled  a  time  long  ago  when  Caleb  had  so 
helped  him  after  a  falling  tree  had  nearly  killed  him 
in  the  woods. 

At  camp  they  found  Sam.  He  was  greatly 
astonished  at  the  procession,  for  he  knew  nothing 
of  the  day's  events,  and  fearfully  disappointed  he 
was  on  learning  what  he  had  missed. 

Caleb  still  looked  white  and  sick  when  they  got 
him  to  the  fire,  and  Raften  said,  "Sam,  go  home  and 
get  your  mother  to  give  you  a  little  brandy." 

"You  don't  need  to  go  so  far,"  said  Yan,  "for  that 
fellow  has  a  bottle  in  his  pocket." 

"  I  wouldn't  touch  a  dhrap  of  anny thing  he  has,  let 
alone  give  it  to  a  sick  friend,"  was  William's  reply. 

So  Sam  went  for  the  brandy  and  was  back  with  it 
in  half  an  hour. 

"Here  now,  Caleb,"  said  William,  "drink  that 
now  an'  ye'll  feel  better,"  and  as  he  offered  the  cup 
he  felt  a  little  reviving  glow  of  sympathy  for  his 
former  comrade. 

When  Sam  went  home  that  morning  it  was  with  a 
very  clear  purpose.  He  had  gone  straight  to  his 
mother  and  told  all  he  knew  about  the  revolver  and 
the  misunderstanding  with  Caleb,  and  they  two 
had  had  a  long,  unsatisfactory  interview  with  the 
father.  Raften  was  brutal  and  outspoken  as  usual. 
Mrs.  Raften  was  calm  and  clear-witted.  Sam  was 
shrewd.  The  result  was  a  complete  defeat  for 


487 


Two  Little  Savages 

William — a  defeat  that  he  would  not  acknowledge; 
and  Sam  came  back  to  camp  disappointed  for  the  time 
being,  but  now  to  witness  the  very  thing  he  had  been 
striving  for — his  father  and  the  Trapper  reconciled ; 
deadly  enemies  two"  hours  ago,  but  now  made  friends 
through  a  fight.  Though  overpowered  in  argument, 
Raf ten's  rancour  was  not  abated,  but  rather  increased 
toward  the  man  he  had  evidently  misused,  until  the 
balance  was  turned  by  the  chance  of  his  helping 
that  man  in  a  time  of  direst  straits. 


U  &  f 

v>  *  r* >  * 

y>  $  ,a 

if  I 


488 


XXVI 
Winning  Back  the  Farm 

OH,  the  magic  of  the  camp  fire  !  No  unkind  feeling 
long  withstands  its  glow.     For  men  to  meet 
at  the  same  campfire  is  to  come   closer,   to 
have  better  understanding  of  each  other,  and  to  lay  the 
foundations  of  lasting  friendship.     "  He  and  I  camped 
together  once  !  "  is  enough  to  explain  all  cordiality 
between  the  men  most  wide  apart,  and  Woodcraft  days 
are  days  of  memories  happy,  bright  and  lifelong. 

To  sit  at  the  same  camp  fireside  has  always  been 
a  sacred  bond,  and  the  scene  of  twenty  years  before 
was  now  renewed  in  the  Raften  woods,  thanks  to 
that  campfire  lit  a  month  before — the  sacred  fire  ! 
How  well  it  had  been  named  !  William  and  Caleb 
were  camped  together  in  good  fellowship  again, 
marred  though  it  was  with  awkwardness  as  yet,  but 
still  good  fellowship. 

Raften  was  a  magistrate.  He  sent  Sam  with  an 
order  to  the  constable  to  come  for  the  prisoner. 
Yan  went  to  the  house  for  provisions  and  to  bring 
Mrs.  Raften,  and  Guy  went  home  with  an  astonishing 
account  of  his  latest  glorious  doings.  The  tramp 
desperado  was  securely  fastened  to  a  tree;  Caleb 
was  in  the  teepee  lying  down.  Raften  went  in  for 
a  few  minutes,  and  when  he  came  out  the  tramp 

489 


Two  Little  Savages 

was  gone.  His  bonds  were  cut,  not  slipped.  How 
could  he  have  gotten  away  without  help  ? 

"Never  mind,"  said  Raften.  "That  three-fingered 
hand  is  aisy  to.  follow.  Caleb,  ain't  that  Bill 
Hennard?" 

"I   reckon." 

The  men  had  a  long  talk.  Caleb  told  of  the  loss 
of  his  revolver — he  was  still  living  in  the  house  with 
the  Pogues  then — and  of  its  recovery.  They  both 
remembered  that  Hennard  was  close  by  at  the  time 
of  the  quarrel  over  the  Horse-trade.  There  was 
much  that  explained  itself  and  much  of  mystery 
that  remained. 

But  one  thing  was  clear.  Caleb  had  been  tricked 
out  of  everything  he  had  in  the  world,  for  it  was 
just  a  question  of  days  now  before  Pogue  would,  in 
spite  of  Saryann,  throw  off  all  pretense  and  order 
Caleb  from  the  place  to  shift  for  himself. 

Raften  sat  a  long  time  thinking,  then  said : 

"Caleb,  you  do  exactly  as  Oi  tell  ye  and  ye'll  get 
yer  farrum  back.  First,  Oi'll  lend  ye  wan  thousand 
dollars  for  wan  week." 

A  thousand  dollars !  !  !  Caleb's  eyes  opened,  and 
what  was  next  he  did  not  then  learn,  for  the  boys 
came  back  and  interrupted,  but  later  the  old  Trapper 
was  fully  instructed. 

When  Mrs.  Raften  heard  of  it  she  was  thunder 
struck.  A  thousand  dollars  in  Sanger  was  like  one 
hundred  thousand  dollars  in  a  big  city.  It  was 
untold  wealth,  and  Mrs.  Raften  fairly  gasped. 

490 


Winning  Back  the  Farm 

*'A  thousand  dollars,  William  !  Why  !  isn't  that  a 
heavy  strain  to  put  on  the  honesty  of  a  man  who 
thinks  still  that  he  has  some  claim  on  you  ?  Is  it  safe 
to  risk  it?" 

"Pooh!"  said  William.  " Oi'm  no  money-lender, 
nor  spring  gosling  nayther.  Thayer's  the  money 
Oi'll  lend  him,"  and  Raften  produced  a  roll  of  counter 
feit  bills  that  he  as  magistrate  had  happened  to  have 
in  temporary  custody.  "Thayer's  maybe  five  hundred 
or  six  hundred  dollars,  but  it's  near  enough." 

Caleb,  however,  was  allowed  to  think  it  real 
money,  and  fully  prepared,  he  called  at  his  own — 
the  Pogue  house — the  next  day,  knocked,  and 
walked  in. 

"Good-morning,  father,"  said  Saryann,  for  she 
had  some  decency  and  kindness. 

"What  do  you  want  here?"  said  Dick  savagely; 
"bad  enough  to  have  you  on  the  place,  without 
forcing  yerself  on  us  day  and  night." 

"Hush  no'w,  Dick;  you  forget " 

"Forget — I  don't  forget  nothin'  ,"  retorted  Dick, 
interrupting  his  wife.  "He  had  to  help  with  the 
chores  an'  work,  an'  he  don't  do  a  thing  and  expects 
to  live  on  me." 

"  Oh,  well,  you  won't  have  me  long  to  bother  you," 
said  Caleb  sadly,  as  he  tottered  to  a  chair.  His  face 
was  white  and  he  looked  sick  and  shaky. 

"What's  the  matter,  father?" 

"Oh,  I'm  pretty  bad.  I  won't  last  much  longer. 
You'll  be  quit  o'  me  before  many  days." 

491 


Two  Little  Savages 


"Big  loss  !  "  grumbled  Dick. 

"  I — I  give  you  my  farm  an'  everything  I  had " 

"  Oh,  shut  up.     I'm  sick  of  hearing  about  it." 

' '  At  least  — 'most  —  everything.  I — I — I — didn't 
say  nothing  about  a  little  wad  o' — o' — bills  I  had 
stored  away.  I — I — "  and  the  old  man  trembled 
violently — "I'm  so  cold." 

"Dick,  do  make  a  fire,"  said  his  wife. 

"I  won't  do  no  sich  fool  trick.  It's  roastin'  hot 
now." 

"  'Tain't  much,"  went  on  the  trembling  old  man, 
"onlyfif — fif — teen  hundred — dollars.  I  got  it  here 
now,"  and  he  drew  out  the  roll  of  greenbacks. 

FIFTEEN  HUNDRED  DOLLARS!  Twice  as 
much  as  the  whole  farm  and  stock  were  worth ! 
Dick's  eyes  fairly  popped  out,  and  Caleb  was  careful 
to  show  also  the  handle  of  the  white  revolver. 

"Why,  father,"  exclaimed  Saryann,  "you  are  ill! 
Let  me  go  get  you  some  brandy.  Dick,  make  a  fire. 
Father  is  cold  as  ice." 

"Yes — please — fire — I'm  all  of — a — tremble — with 
—cold." 

Dick  rushed  around  now  and  soon  the  big  fire 
place  was  filled  with  blaze  and  the  room  unpleas 
antly  warm. 

"Here,  father,  have  some  brandy  and  water," 
said  Dick,  in  a  very  different  tone.  "  Would  you  like 
a  little  quinine?" 

"No,  no — I'm  better  now;  but  I  was  saying — I 
only  got  a  few  days  to  live,  an'  having  no  legal  kin — 


492 


Winning1  Back  the  Farm 

this  here  wad'd  go  to  the  gover'ment,  but  I  spoke 
to  the  lawyer,  an'  all  I  need  do — is — add — a  word 
to  the  deed  o'  gift — for  the  farm — to  include 
this — an'  it's  very  right  you  should  have  it,  too."  Old 
Caleb  shook  from  head  to  foot  and  coughed  terribly. 

"Oh,  father,  let  me  send  for  the  doctor,"  pleaded 
Saryann,  and  Dick  added  feebly,  "Yes,  father,  let 
me  go  for  the  doctor." 

"No,  no;  never  mind.  It  don't  matter.  I'll 
be  better  off  soon.  Have  you  the  deed  o'  gift  here  ? " 

"Oh,  yes,  Dick  has  it  in  his  chest."  Dick  ran  to 
get  the  deed,  for  these  were  the  days  before  registra 
tion  in  Canada;  possession  of  the  deed  was  pos 
session  of  the  farm,  and  to  lose  the  deed  was  to  lose 
the  land. 

The  old  man  tremblingly  fumbled  over  the  money, 
seeming  to  count  it — "Yes — just — fif-teen  hun'erd," 
as  Dick  came  clumping  down  the  ladder  with  the 
deed. 

"Have  you  got  a — pen — and  ink " 

Dick  went  for  the  dried-up  ink  bottle  while  Saryann 
hunted  for  the  pen.  Caleb's  hand  trembled  vio 
lently  as  he  took  the  parchment,  glanced  carefully 
over  it — yes,  this  was  it — the  thing  that  had  made 
him  a  despised  pauper.  He  glanced  around  quickly. 
Dick  and  Saryann  were  at  the  other  end  of  the  room. 
He  rose,  took  one  step  forward,  and  stuffed  the  deed 
into  the  blazing  fire.  Holding  his  revolver  in  his  right 
hand  and  the  poker  in  the  left,  he  stood  erect  and  firm, 
all  sign  of  weakness  gone;  his  eyes  were  ablaze,  and 

493 


Two  Little  Savages 


with  voice  of  stern  command  he  hissed  "  Stand  back  !  " 
and  pointed  the  pistol  as  he  saw  Dick  rushing  to 
rescue  the  deed.  In  a  few  seconds  it  was  wholly 
consumed,  and  with  that,  as  all  knew,  the  last  claim 
of  the  Pogues  on  the  property,  for  Caleb's  own  pos 
sessory  was  safe  in  a  vault  at  Downey's. 

"Now,"  thundered  Caleb,  "you  dirty  paupers, 
get  out  of  my  house  !  Get  off  my  land,  and  don't 
you  dare  touch  a  thing  belonging  to  me." 

He  raised  his  voice  in  a  long  "halloo"  and  rapped 
three  times  on  the  table.  Steps  were  heard  outside. 
Then  in  came  Raften  with  two  men. 

"  Magistrate  Raften,  clear  my  house  of  them  inter 
lopers,  if  ye  please." 

Caleb  gave  them  a  few  minutes  to  gather  up  their 
own  clothes,  then  they  set  out  on  foot  for  Downey's, 
wild  with  helpless  rage,  penniless  wanderers  in  the 
world,  as  they  had  meant  to  leave  old  Caleb. 

Now  he  was  in  possession  of  his  own  again,  once 
more  comfortably  "  fixed."  After  the  men  had  had 
their  rough  congratulations  and  uproarious  laughter 
over  the  success  of  the  trick,  Raften  led  up  to  the 
question  of  money,  then  left  a  blank,  wondering 
what  Caleb  would  do.  The  good  old  soul  pulled 
out  the  wad. 

"There  it  is,  Bill.  I  hain't  even  counted  it,  and 
a  thousand  times  obliged.  If  ever  you  need  a 
friend,  call  on  me." 

Raften  chuckled,  counted  the  greenbacks  and 
said  "  All  right  !  "  and  to  this  day  Caleb  doesn't  know 


Winning  Back  the  Farm 

that  the  fortune  he  held  in  his  hand  that  day  was 
nothing  but  a  lot  of  worthless  paper. 

A  week  later,  as  the  old  Trapper  sat  alone  getting 
his  evening  meal,  there  was  a  light  rap  at  the  door. 

"  Come  in." 

A  woman  entered.  Turk  had  sprung  up  growling, 
but  now  wagged  his  tail,  and  when  she  lifted  a  veil 
Caleb  recognized  Saryann. 

"  What  do  you  want  ? "  he  demanded  savagely. 

"  'Twasn't  my  doing,  father;  you  know  it  wasn't; 
and  now  he's  left  me  for  good."  She  told  him 
her  sorrowful  story  l3riefly.  Dick  had  not 
courted  Saryann,  but  the  farm,  and  now  that  that 
was  gone  he  had  no  further  use  for  her.  He  had 
been  leading  a  bad  life,  "far  worse  than  any  one 
knew,"  and  now  he  had  plainly  told  her  he  was  done 
with  her. 

Caleb's  hot  anger  never  lasted  more  than  five 
minutes.  He  must  have  felt  that  her  story  was  true, 
for  the  order  of  former  days  was  reestablished,  and 
with  Saryann  for  housekeeper  the  old  man  had  a 
comfortable  home  to  the  end  of  his  days. 

Pogue  disappeared;  folks  say  he  went  to  the  States. 
The  three-fingered  tramp  never  turned  up  again,  and 
about  this  time  the  serious  robberies  in  the  region 
ceased.  Three  years  afterward  they  learned  that 
two  burglars  had  been  shot  while  escaping  from  an 
American  penitentiary.  One  of  them  was  undoubt 
edly  Dick  Pogue,  and  the  other  was  described  as  a 
big  dark  man  with  three  fingers  on  the  right  hand. 


495 


XXVII 
The  Rival  Tribe 

THE  winning  back  of  the  farm,  according  to  Sanger 
custom  must  be  celebrated  in  a  "sociable"  that 
took  the  particular  form  of  a  grand  house- 
warming,  in  which  the  Raftens,  Burnses  and  Boyles 
were  fully  represented,  as  Char-less  was  Caleb's  fast 
friend.     The    Injun   band   was    very  prominent,  for 
Caleb  saw  that  it  was  entirely  owing  to  the  meetings 
at  the  camp  that  the  glad  event  had  come  about 

Caleb  acted  as  go-between  for  Char-less  Boyle  and 
William  Raften,  and  their  feud  was  forgotten — for 
the  time  at  least — as  they  related  stories  of  their 
early  hunting  days,  to  the  delight  of  Yan  and  the 
Tribe.  There  were  four  other  boys  there  whom 
Little  Beaver  met  for  the  first  time.  They  were 
Wesley  Boyle,  a  dark-skinned,  low-browed,  active 
boy  of  Sam's  age;  his  brother  Peter,  about  twelve, 
fair,  fat  and  freckled,  and  with  a  marvellous  squint; 
and  their  cousin  Char-less  Boyle,  Jr.,  good-natured, 
giggly,  and  of  spongy  character;  also  Cyrus  Digby, 
a  smart  city  boy,  who  was  visiting  "the  folks,"  and 
who  usually  appeared  in  white  cuffs  and  very 
high  stand-up  collar.  These  boys  were  greatly 
interested  in  the  Sanger  Indian  camp,  and  one 
outcome  of  the  meeting  at  Caleb's  was  the  formation 

496 


The  Rival  Tribe 


of  another  Tribe  of  Indians,  composed  of  the  three 
Boyle  boys  and  their  town  friend. 

Since  most  of  these  were  Boyles  and  the  hunting- 
ground  was  the  Boyles  woods  about  that  marshy  pond, 
and  especially  because  they  had  read  of  a  band  of 
Indians  named  Boilers  or  Stoneboilers  (Assineboines), 
they  called  themselves  the  "Boilers."  Wesley  was 
the  natural  leader.  He  was  alert  as  well  as  strong, 
and  eager  to  do  things,  so  made  a  fine  Chief.  His 
hooked  nose  and  black  hair  and  eyes  won  for  him 
the  appropriate  name  of  "  Blackhawk. "  The  city 
boy  being  a  noisy  "show-off,"  who  did  little  work, 
was  called  "Bluejay. "  Peter  Boyle  was  "Peet- 
weet,"  and  Char-less,  from  his  peculiar  snickering 
and  showing  two  large  front  teeth,  was  called 
"Red-squirrel." 

They  made  their  camp  as  much  as  possible  like 
that  of  the  Sangers,  and  adopted  their  customs;  but 
a  deadly  rivalry  sprang  up  between  them  from  the 
first.  The  Sangers  felt  that  they  were  old  and  expe 
rienced  Woodcrafters.  The  Boilers  thought  they 
knew  as  much  and  more,  and  they  outnumbered 
the  Sangers.  Active  rivalry  led  to  open  hostilities. 
There  was  a  general  battle  with  fists  and  mud;  that 
proved  a  draw.  Then  a  duel  between  leaders  was 
arranged,  and  Blackhawk  won  the  fight  and  the 
Woodpecker's  scalp.  The  Boilers  were  wild  with 
enthusiasm.  They  proposed  to  take  the  whole  Sanger 
camp,  but  in  a  hand-to-hand  fight  of  both  tribes  it 
was  another  draw.  Guy,  however,  scored  a  glorious 


497 


Two  Little  Savages 

triumph  over  Char-less  and  secured  his  scalp  at  the 
moment  of  victory. 

Now  Little  Beaver  sent  a  challenge  to  Blackhawk. 
It  was  scornfully  accepted.  Again  the  Boiler  Chief 
was  victor  and  wen  another  scalp,  while  Little  Beaver 
got  a  black  eye  and  a  bad  licking,  but  the  enemy 
retired. 

Yan  had  always  been  considered  a  timid  boy  at 
Bonnerton,  but  that  was  largely  the  result  of  his 
repressive  home  training.  Sanger  was  working  great 
changes.  To  be  treated  with  respect  by  the  head  of 
the  house  was  a  new  and  delightful  experience.  It 
developed  his  self  -respect.  His  wood  life  was  making 
him  wonderfully  self-reliant,  and  improved  health 
helped  his  courage,  so  next  day,  when  the  enemy 
appeared  in  full  force,  every  one  was  surprised  when 
Yan  again  challenged  Blackhawk.  It  really  cost 
him  a  desperate  and  mighty  effort  to  do  so,  for  it  is 
one  thing  to  challenge  a  boy  that  you  think  you  can 
"lick"  and  another  to  challenge  one  the  very  day  after 
he  has  licked  you.  Indeed,  if  the  truth  were  known, 
Yan  did  it  in  fear  and  trembling,  and  therein  lay  the 
courage — in  going  ahead  when  fear  said  "Go  back." 

It  is  quite  certain  that  a  year  before  he  would  not 
have  ventured  in  such  a  fight,  and  he  only  did  it  now 
because  he  had  realized  that  Blackhawk  was  left- 
handed,  and  a  plan  to  turn  this  to  account  had 
suggested  itself.  Every  one  was  much  surprised  at 
the  challenge,  but  much  more  so  when,  to  the  joy 
of  his  tribe,  Little  Beaver  won  a  brilliant  victory. 

498 


The  Rival  Tribe 

Inspired  by  this,  they  drove  the  Boilers  from  the 
field,  scored  a  grand  triumph,  and  Sam  and  Yan 
each  captured  a  scalp. 

The  Sangers  held  a  Council  and  scalp-dance  in 
celebration  that  night  around  an  outdoor  fire.  The 
Medicine  Man  was  sent  for  to  be  in  it. 

After  the  dance,  Chief  Beaver,  his  face  painted 
to  hide  his  black  eye,  made  a  speech.  He  claimed 
that  the  Boilers  would  surely  look  for  reinforcements 
and  attempt  a  new  attack,  and  that,  therefore,  the 
Sangers  should  try  to  add  to  their  number,  too. 

"I  kin  lick  Char-less  any  time,"  piped  in  Guy 
proudly,  and  swung  the  scalp  he  had  won. 

But  the  Medicine  Man  said:  "  If  I  were  you  boys 
I'd  fix  up  a  peace.  Now  you've  won  you  ought  to 
ask  them  to  a  big  pow-wow. " 

These  were  the  events  that  led  to  the  friendly  meet 
ing  of  the  two  Tribes  in  full  war-paint. 

Chief  Woodpecker  first  addressed  them:  "Say, 
fellers — Brother  Chiefs,  I  mean — this  yere  'quar'lin' 
don't  pay.  We  kin  have  more  fun  working  together. 
Let's  be  friends  an'  join  in  one  Tribe.  There's  more 
fun  when  there's  a  crowd.  " 

"All  right,"  said  Blackhawk;  "but  we'll  call  the 
tribe  the  'Boilers,'  coz  we  have  the  majority,  and 
leave  me  Head  Chief." 

"You  are  wrong  about  that.  Our  Medicine  Men 
makes  us  even  number  and  more  than  even  weight. 
We've  got  the  best  camp — have  the  swimming-pond, 
and  we  are  the  oldest  Tribe,  not  to  speak  of  the  success 

499 


Two  Little  Savages 

we  had  in  a  certain  leetle  business  not  long  ago  which 
the  youngest  of  us  kin  remember,"  and  Guy  grinned 
in  appreciation  of  this  evident  reference  to  his  exploit. 

As  a  matter  of  €act,  it  was  the  swimming-pond  that 
turned  the  day.  The  Boilers  voted  to  join  the 
Sangers.  Their  holiday  was  only  ten  days,  the 
Sangers  had  got  a  week's  extension,  and  all  knew 
that  they  could  get  most  out  of  their  time  by  going 
to  the  pond  camp.  The  question  of  a  name  was 
decided  by  Little  Beaver. 

"Boiler  Warriors,"  said  he,  "it  is  the  custom  of 
the-  Indians  to  have  the  Tribes  divided  in  clans.  We 
are  the  Sanger  clan.  You  are  the  Boiler  clan.  But 
as  we  all  live  in  Sanger  we  are  all  Sanger  Indians." 

"Who's  to  be  Head  Chief?" 

Blackhawk  had  no  notion  of  submitting  to 
Woodpecker,  whom  he  had  licked,  nor  would  Wood 
pecker  accept  a  Chief  of  the  inferior  tribe.  One 
suggested  that  Little  Beaver  be  Chief,  but  out  of 
loyalty  to  his  friend,  the  Woodpecker,  Yan  declined. 

"Better  leave  that  for  a  few  days  till  you  get 
acquainted, "  was  the  Medicine  Man's  wise  suggestion. 

That  day  and  the  next  were  spent  in  camp.  The 
Boilers  had  their  teepee  to  make  and  beds  to  prepare. 
The  Sangers  merrily  helped,  making  a  "bee"  of  it. 

Bow  and  arrow  making  were  next  to  do.  Little 
Beaver  had  not  fully  replaced  his  own  destroyed  by 
the  robber.  A  hunt  of  the  Burlap  Deer  was  a  pleasant 
variation  of  the  second  day,  though  there  were  but 
two  bows  for  all,  and  the  Boilers  began  to  realize 

500 


The  Rival  Tribe 

that  they  were  really  far  behind  the  Sangers  in 
knowledge  of  Woodcraft. 

At  swimming  Blackhawk  was  easily  first.  Of 
course,  this  greatly  increased  his  general  interest  in 
the  swimming-pond,  and  he  chiefly  was  responsible 
for  the  making  of  a  canoe  later  on. 

The  days  went  on  right  merrily — oh,  so  fast ! 
Little  Beaver  showed  all  the  things  of  interest  in 
his  kingdom.  How  happy  he  was  in  showing  them — 
playing  experienced  guide  as  he  used  to  dream  it ! 
Peetweet  took  a  keen  interest ;  so  did  the  city  boy. 
Char-less  took  a  little  interest  in  it  all,  helped  a  little, 
was  generally  a  little  in  everything,  and  giggled 
a  good  deal.  Hawkeye  was  disposed  to  bully 
Char-less,  since  he  found  him  quite  lickable.  His 
tone  was  high  and  haughty  when  he  spoke  to 
him — not  at  all  like  his  whining  when  addressing 
the  others.  He  volunteered  to  discipline  Char-less 
if  he  should  ill-treat  any  of  the  others,  and  was 
about  to  administer  grievous  personal  punishment 
for  some  trifling  offense,  when  Blackhawk  gave 
him  a  warning  that  had  good  effect. 

Yan's  note-book  was  fully  discussed  and  his  draw 
ings  greatly  admired.  He  set  tt)  work  at  once  with 
friendly  enthusiasm  to  paint  the  Boilers'  teepee. 
Not  having  any  adventures  that  seemed  important, 
except,  perhaps,  Blackhawk's  defeat  of  Woodpecker 
and  Little  Beaver,  subjects  that  did  not  interest  the 
artist,  the  outside  decorations  were  the  totem  of 
the  clan  and  its  members. 


501 


XXVIII 
White-Man's  Woodcraft 

BLACKHAWK    was    the    introducer    of    a   new 
game  which  he  called  "judging." 
"How  far  is  it  from  here  to  that  tree?"  he 
would  ask,  and  when  each  had  written  down  his  guess 
they  would  measure,  and  usually  it  was  Woodpecker 
or  Blackhawk  that  came  nearest  to  the  truth.     Guy 
still  held  the  leadership  "for  far  sight,"   for  which 
reason  he  suggested  that  game  whenever   a   change 
of  amusement  was  wanted. 

Yan,  following  up  Blackhawk's  suggestion,  brought 
in  the  new  game  of  "  White-man's  Woodcraft." 

"Can  you,"  asked  he,  "tell  a  Dog's  height  by  its 
track?" 

"No;  nor  you  nor  any  one  else,"  was  the  some 
what  scornful  reply. 

"Oh,  yes,  I  can.  Take  the  length  in  inches  of  his 
forefoot  track,  multiply  it  by  8,  and  that  gives 
his  height  at  the  shoulder.  You  try  it  and  you'll 
see.  A  little  Dog  has  a  2^  -inch  foot  and  stands 
about  1 8  inches,  a  Sheep  Dog  with  a  3-inch  track 
stands  24  inches,  and  a  Mastiff  or  any  big  Dog 
with  a  4-inch  track  gives  30  to  32  inches." 

"You  mean  every  Dog  is  8  feet  high?"  drawled 
Sam,  doubtfully,  but  Yan  went  on.  "And  you  can 

502 


White-Man's  Woodcraft 

tell  his  weight,  too,  by  the  track.  You  multiply 
the  width  of  his  forefoot  in  inches  by  the  length, 
and  multiply  that  by  5,  and  that  gives  pretty  near 
his  weight  in  pounds.  I  tried  old  Cap.  His  foot 
is  3^  by  3;  that  equals  10^,  multiplied  by  5 
equals  52^  pounds:  just  about  right." 

"I'll  bet  I  seen  a  Dog  at  the  show  that  that  wouldn't 
work  on,"  drawled  Sam.  "He  was  as  long  as  my 
two  arms,  he  had  feet  as  big  as  a  young  Bear,  an' 
he  wasn't  any  higher  than  a  brick.  He  was  jest 
about  the  build  of  a  Caterpiller,  only  he  didn't  have 
but  four  legs  at  the  far  ends.  They  was  so  far 
apart  he  couldn't  keep  step.  He  looked  like  he  was 
raised  under  a  bureau.  I  think  when  they  was  cut 
ting  down  so  on  his  legs  they  might  have  give  him 
more  of  them;  a  row  in  the  middle  would  'a'  been 
'bout  right." 

"  Yes,  I  know  him.  That's  a  Dachshund.  But  you 
can't  reckon  on  freaks;  nothing  but  straight  Dog. 
It  works  on  wild  animals,  too — that  is,  on  Wolves 
and  Foxes  and  maybe  other  things,"  then  changing 
the  subject  Beaver  continued: 

"Can  you  tell  the  height  of  a  tree  by  its  shadow?" 
"Never  thought  of  that.     How  do  you  do  it?" 
"Wait  till  your  own  shadow  is  the  same  length  as 
yourself — that  is,  about  eight  in  the  morning  or  four 
in  the  afternoon — then  measure  the  tree's  shadow. 
That  gives  its  length." 

"You'd  have  to  wait  all  day  to  work  that,  and  you 
can't  do  it  at  all  in  the  woods  or  on  a  dull  day," 
objected  Blackhawk.  "I'd  rather  do- it  by  guess." 

5°3 


Two  Little  Savages 

"I'll  bet  my  scalp  against  yours  I  can  tell  the 
height  of  that  tree  right  now  without  climbing  it, 
and  get  closer  than  you  can  by  guessing,"  said 
Little  Beaver. 

"No,  I  won't  bet  scalps  on  that — but  I'll  bet  who's 
to  wash  the  dishes." 

"All  right.  To  the  top  of  that  tree,  how  much 
is  it?" 

"  Better  not  take  the  top,  'cause  we  can't  get  there 
to  measure  it,  but  say  that  knot,"  was  the  rejoinder. 
"Here,  Woodpecker,  you  be  judge." 

"No,  I  want  to  be  in  this  guessing.  The  loser 
takes  the  next  turn  of  dishwashing  for  each  of  the 
others." 

So  Blackhawk  studied  the  knot  carefully  and  wrote 
down  his  guess — Thirty-eight  feet. 

Sam  said,  "  Blackhawk  !  Ground's  kind  of  uneven. 
I'd  like  to  know  the  exact  spot  under  the  tree  that 
you'd  measure  to.  Will  you  mark  it  with  a  peg?" 

So  Blackhawk  went  over  and  put  in  a  white  peg, 
at  the  same  time  unwittingly  giving  Woodpecker 
what  he  wanted — a  gauge,  for  he  knew  Blackhawk 
was  something  more  than  five  feet  high;  judging  then 
as  he  stood  there  Sam  wrote  down  Thirty-five  feet. 

Now  it  was  Yan's  turn  to  do  it  by  "White-man's 
Woodcraft,"  as  he  called  it.  He  cut  a  pole  exactly 
ten  feet  long,  and  choosing  the  smoothest  ground,  he 
walked  about  twenty  yards  from  the  tree,  propped 
the  pole  upright,  then  lay  down  so  that  his  eye 
was  level  with  the  tree  base  and  in  line  with  the 


5°4 


White-Man's  Woodcraft 

top  of  the  pole  and  the  knot  on  the  tree.  A  peg 
marked  the  spot. 

Now  he  measured  from  this  "  eye  peg"  to  the  foot 
of  the  pole;  it  was  31  feet.  Then  from  the  eye  peg 
to  the  peg  under  the  tree;  it  was  87  feet.  Since 
the  lo-foot  pole  met  the  line  at  31  feet,  then  31 
is  to  10  as  87  is  to  the  tree — or  28  feet.  Now  one  of 
the  boys  climbed  and  measured  the  height  of  the 
knot.  It  was  29  feet,  and  Yan  had  an  easy  victory. 

"Here,  you  close  guessers,  do  you  want  another 
try,  and  I'll  give  you  odds  this  time.  If  you  come 
within  ten  feet  you'll  win.  I  want  only  two  feet  to 
come  and  go  on." 

'  All  right.     Pick  your  trees." 

'  Tisii't  a  tree  this  time,  but  the  distance  across 
that  pond,  from  this  peg  (H,  page  506)  to  that  little 
Hemlock  (D).  You  put  down  your  guesses  and  I'll 
show  you  another  trick." 

Sam  studied  it  carefully  and  wrote  Forty  feet. 
Wes  put  down  Forty -five. 

"Here,  I  want  to  be  in  this.  I'll  show  you  fellers 
how,"  exclaimed  Guy  in  his  usual  scornful  manner, 
and  wrote  down  Fifty  feet. 

"  Let's  all  try  it  for  scalps, "  said  Char-less,  but  this 
was  ruled  too  unimportant  for  scalps,  and  again  the 
penalty  of  failure  was  dishwashing,  so  the  other  boys 
came  and  put  down  their  guesses  close  to  that  of  their 
Chief — Forty-four,  Forty-six  and  Forty-nine  feet. 

"Now  we'll  find  out  exactly,"  and  Little  Beaver, 
with  an  air  of  calm  superiority,  took  three  straight 

505 


Two  Little  Savages 


poles  of  exactly  the  same  length  and  pegged  them 
together  in  a  triangle,  leaving  the  pegs  sticking  up. 
He  placed  this  triangle  on  the  bank  at  A  B  C, 
sighting  the  line  A  B  for  the  little  Hemlock  D,  and 
put  three  pegs  in  the  ground  exactly  under  the  three 
pegs  where  the  triangle  was;  moved  the  triangle  to 
E  F  G  and  placed  it  so  that  F  G  should  line  with 
A  C  and  E  G  with  D.  Now  A  G  D  also  must  be 
an  equilateral  triangle;  therefore,  according  to 
arithmetic,  the  line  D  H  must  be  seven-eighths  of  A  G. 
A  G  was  easily  measured  —  70  feet.  Seven-eighths  of 
70  equals  6ij£  feet.  The  width  of  the  pond  —  they 
measured  it  with  tape  line  —  was  found  to  be  60 
feet,  so  Yan  was  nearest,  but  Guy  claimed  that  50 
feet  was  within  10  feet  of  it,  which  was  allowed. 
Thus  there  were  two  winners  —  two  who  escaped  dish 
washing;  and  Hawkey  e's  bragging  became  insufferable. 
He  never  again  got  so  close  in  a  guess,  but  no  number 
of  failures  could  daunt  him  after  such  a  success. 

Sam  was  interested  in  the  White-man's  Woodcraft 
chiefly  on  Yan's  account,  but  Blackhawk  was  evi 
dently  impressed  with  the  study  itself,  and  said  : 

"Little  Beaver,  I'll  give  you  one  more  to  do.  Can 
you  measure  how  far  apart  those  two  trees  are  on 
that  bank,  without  crossing?" 

"Yes,"  said  Yan;  "easily."  So  he  cut  three  poles 
6,  8  and  10  feet  long  and  pegged  them  together  in  a 
triangle  (page  507).  "Now,"  said  he,  "  A  B  C 
is  a  right  angle;  it  must  be,  when  the  legs  of  the 
triangle  are  6,  8  and  10;  that's  a  law." 


506 


White-Man's  Woodcraft 

YLe  placed  this  on  the  shore,  the  side  ^1  B  pointing  to 
the  inner  side  of  the  first  tree,  and  the  side  B  C  as  nearly 
as  possible  parallel  with  the  line  between  the  two 
trees.  Then  he  put  in  a  stake  at  B,  another  at  Ct 
and  continued  this  line  toward  K.  Now  he  slid  his 
triangle  along  this  till  the  side  G  F  pointed  to  E,  and 
the  side  H  G  in  line  with  C  B.  The  distance  from 
D  to  E,  of  course,  is  equal  to  B  G,  which  can  be 
measured,  and  again  the  tape  line  showed  Yan  to 
be  nearly  right. 

This  White-man's  Woodcraft  was  easy  for  him, 
and  he  volunteered  to  teach  the  other  Indians,  but 
they  thought  it  looked  "too  much  like  school.  "  They 
voted  him  a  coup  on  finding  how  well  he  could 
do  it.  But  when  Raften  heard  of  it  he  exclaimed 
in  wonder  and  admiration,  "My,  but  that's  mighti- 
ful!"  and  would  not  be  satisfied  till  the  cony  was 
made  a  grand  coup. 

"Say,  Beaver,"  said  Woodpecker,  sadly  harking 
back,  "if  a  Dog's  front  foot  is  3^  inches  long  and 
3  inches  wide,  what  colour  is  the  end  of  his  tail?" 

"White,"  was  the  prompt  reply;  "'cause  a  Dog 
with  feet  that  size  and  shape  is  most  likely  to  be  a 
yaller  Dog,  and  a  yaller  Dog  always  has  some  white 
hairs  in  the  end  of  his  tail." 

"Well,  this  'un  hadn't,  'cause  his  tail  was  cut  off 
in  the  days  of  his  youth  ! ' ' 


507 


A 

IX 


XXIX 
The  Long  Swamp 

THE  union  of  the  tribes,  however,  was  far  from 
complete.  Blackhawk  was  inclined  to  be  turbu 
lent.  He  was  heavier  than  Beaver.  He  could 
not  understand  how  that  slighter,  younger  boy  could 
throw  him,  and  he  wished  to  try  again.  Now  Yan 
was  growing  stronger  every  day.  He  was  quick 
and  of  very  wiry  build.  In  the  first  battle,  which 
was  entirely  fisty,  he  was  worsted;  on  the  try-over, 
which  cost  him  such  an  effort,  he  had  arranged  "a 
rough-and-tumble,"  as  they  called  it,  and  had  won 
chiefly  by  working  his  only  trick.  But  now  Black- 
hawk  was  not  satisfied,  and  while  he  did  not  care  to 
offer  another  deadly  challenge,  by  way  of  a  feeler  he 
offered,  some  days  after  the  peace,  to  try  a  friendly 
throw  for  scalps. 

"Fists  left  out!"  Just  what  Beaver  wanted, 
and  the  biggest  boy  was  sent  flying.  "If  any  other 
Boiler  would  like  to  try  I'd  be  pleased  to  oblige  him," 
said  Yan,  just  a  little  puffed  up,  as  he  held  up  the 
second  scalp  he  had  won  from  Blackhawk. 

Much  to  his  surprise,  Bluejay,  the  city  boy, 
accepted,  and  he  was  still  more  surprised  when  the 
city  boy  sent  him  down  in  the  dust. 

"  Best  out  of  three  !  "  shouted  Woodpecker  quickly, 

508 


The  Long  Swamp 

in  the  interest  of  his  friend,  taking  advantage  of  an 
unwritten  law  that  when  it  is  not  stated  to  be  in 
one  try,  usually  called  "sudden  death,"  it  is  "best 
two  out  of  three"  that  counts. 

Yan  knew  now  that  he  had  found  a  worthy  foe. 
He  dodged,  waiting  for  an  opening — gripped — 
locked — and  had  him  on  the  hip,  he  thought,  but  the 
city  boy  squirmed  in  time,  yielding  instead  of  resist 
ing,  and  both  went  down  tight -gripped.  For  a 
minute  it  was  doubtful. 

"Go  it,  Yan." 

"Give  it  to  him,  Bluejay." 

But  Yan  quickly  threw  out  one  leg,  got  a  little 
purchase,  and  threw  the  city  boy  on  his  back. 

"Hooray  for  Little  Beaver!" 

"One  try  more  !     So  far  even  !  "  cried  Blackhawk. 

They  closed  again,  but  Yan'  was  more  than  ever 
careful.  The  city  boy  was  puffing  hard.  The  real 
trial  was  over  and  Cy  went  down  quite  easily. 

"Three  cheers  for  Little  Beaver!"  A  fourth 
scalp  was  added  to  his  collection,  and  Sam  patted 
him  on  the  back,  while  Bluejay  got  out  a  pocket 
mirror  and  comb  and  put  his  hair  straight. 

But  this  did  not  help  out  in  the  matter  of  leader 
ship,  and  when  the  Medicine  Man  heard  of  the 
continued  deadlock  he  said: 

"  Boys,  you  know  when  there  is  a  doubt  about  who 
is  to  lead  the  only  way  is  for  all  Chiefs  to  resign  and 
have  a  new  election."  The  boys  acted  on  this  sugges 
tion  but  found  another  deadlock.  Little  Beaver 


Two  Little  Savages 

refused  to  be  put  up.  Woodpecker  got  three  votes, 
Blackhawk  four,  and  Guy  one  (his  own),  and  the 
Sangers  refused  to  stand  by  the  decision. 

"Let's  wait  till  after  the  'hard  trip' — that  will 
show  who  is  the  real  Chief — then  have  a  new  elec 
tion,"  suggested  Little  Beaver,  with  an  eye  to  Wood 
pecker's  interest,  for  this  hard  trip  was  one  that  had 
been  promised  them  by  Caleb — a  three-days'  expedi 
tion  in  the  Long  Swamp. 

This  swamp  was  a  wild  tract,  ten  miles  by  thirty, 
that  lay  a  dozen  miles  north  of  Sanger.  It  was 
swampy  only  in  parts,  but  the  dry  places  were  mere 
rocky  ridges,  like  islands  in  the  bogs.  The  land  on 
these  was  worthless  and  the  timber  had  been  ruined 
by  fire,  so  Long  Swamp  continued  an  uninhabited 
wilderness. 

There  was  said  to  be  a  few  Deer  on  the  hardwood 
ridges.  Bears  and  Lynx  were  occasionally  seen, 
and  Wolves  had  been  heard  in  recent  winters.  Of 
course  there  were  Foxes,  Grouse  and  Northern 
Hare.  The  streams  were  more  or  less  choked  with 
logs,  but  were  known  to  harbour  a  few  Beavers  and 
an  occasional  Otter.  There  were  no  roads  for  sum 
mer  use,  only  long,  dim  openings  across  the  bogs, 
known  as  winter  trails  and  timber  roads.  This 
was  the  region  that  the  boys  proposed  to  visit 
under  Caleb's  guidance. 

Thus  at  last  they  were  really  going  on  an  "Indian 
trip" — to  explore  the  great  unknown,  with  every 
probability  of  adventure. 

510 


The  Long  Swamp 

At  dawn  Yan  tapped  the  tom-tom.  It  sang  a 
high  and  vibrant  note,  in  guarantee  of  a  sunny  day. 

They  left  camp  at  seven  in  the  morning,  and  after 
three  hours'  tramp  they  got  to  the  first  part  of  the 
wilderness,  a  great  tract  of  rocky  land,  disfigured 
with  blackened  trees  and  stumps,  but  green  in  places 
with  groves  of  young  Poplars  or  quaking  Aspen. 

The  Indians  were  very  ready  to  camp  now,  but  the 
Medicine  Man  said,  "No;  better  keep  on  till  we 
find  water."  In  another  mile  they  reached  the  first 
stretch  of  level  Tamarack  bog  and  a  welcome  halt 
for  lunch  was  called.  "Camp  !"  shouted  the  leader, 
and  the  Indians  ran  each  to  do  his  part.  Sam  got 
wood  for  the  fire  and  Blackhawk  went  to  seek  water, 
and  with  him  was  Bluejay,  conspicuous  in  a  high 
linen  collar  and  broad  cuffs,  for  Caleb  unfortunately 
had  admitted  that  he  once  saw  an  Indian  Chief  in 
high  hat  and  stand-up  collar. 

Beaver  was  just  a  little  disappointed  to  see  the 
Medicine  Man  light  the  fire  with  a  match.  He 
wanted  it  all  in  truly  Indian  style,  but  the  Trapper 
remarked,  "Jest  as  well  to  have  some  tinder  and  a 
thong  along  when  you're  in  the  woods,  but  matches 
is  handier  than  rubbing-sticks." 

Blackhawk  and  Bluejay  returned  with  two  pails  of 
dirty,  tepid,  swampy  water. 

"Why,  that's  all  there  is  !"  was  their  defense. 

"Yan,  you  go  and  show  them  how  to  get  good 
water,"  said  Caleb,  so  the  Second  Sanger  Chief, 
remembering  his  training,  took  the  axe  and  quickly 


Two  Little  Savages 


made  a  wooden  digger,  then  went  to  the  edge  of  the 
swamp,  and  on  the  land  twenty  feet  from  the  bog 
he  began  to  dig  a  hole  in  the  sandy  loam.  He  made 
it  two  feet  across  and  sunk  it  down  three  feet.  The 
roily  water  kept  oozing  in  all  around,  and  Bluejay 
was  scornful.  "Well,  I'd  rather  have  what  we  got." 
Beaver  dug  on  till  there  was  a  foot  of  dirty  water 
in  the  hole.  Then  he  took  a  pail  and  bailed  it  all 
out  as  fast  as  possible,  left  it  to  fill,  bailed  it  out 
a  second  time,  and  ten  minutes  later  cautiously 
dipped  out  with  a  cup  a  full  pail  of  crystal-clear  cold 
water,  and  thus  the  Boilers  learned  how  to  make  an 
Indian  well  and  get  clear  water  out  of  a  dirty  puddle. 

After  their  simple  meal  of  tea,  bread  and  meat 
Caleb  told  his  plan.  "You  never  get  the  same  good 
of  a  trip  if  you  jest  wander  off;  better  have  a  plan — 
something  to  do ;  and  do  it  without  a  guide  if  ye  want 
adventures.  Now  eight  is  too  many  to  travel  together ; 
you'd  scare  everything  with  racket  and  never  see  a 
livin'  thing.  Better  divide  in  parties.  I'll  stay  in 
camp  and  get  things  ready  for  the  night." 

Thus  the  leaders,  Sam  and  Yan,  soon  found  them 
selves  paired  with  Guy  and  Peetweet.  Wes  felt 
bound  to  take  care  of  his  little  cousin  Char-less. 

Bluejay,  finding  himself  the  odd  man,  decided  to 
stay  with  Caleb,  especially  as  the  swamp  evidently 
was  without  proper  footpaths. 

"Now,"  said  Caleb,  "northwest  of  here  there  is 
a  river  called  the  Beaver,  that  runs  into  Black 
River.  I  want  one  of  you  to  locate  that.  It's  thirty 


S12 


The  Longf  Swamp 

or  forty  feet  wide  and  easy  to  know,  for  it's  the 
only  big  stream  in  the  swamp.  Right  north  there 
is  an  open  stretch  of  plain,  with  a  little  spring  creek, 
where  there's  a  band  of  Injuns  camped.  Somewhere 
northeast  they  say  there's  a  tract  of  Pine  bush 
not  burned  off,  and  there  is  some  Deer  there.  None 
of  the  places  is  ten  miles  away  except,  maybe,  the 
Injuns'  camp.  I  want  ye  to  go  scoutin'  and  report. 
You  kin  draw  straws  to  say  who  goes  where. " 

So  the  straws  were  marked  and  drawn.  Yan  drew 
the  timber  hunt.  He  would  rather  have  had  the  one 
after  the  Indians.  Sam  had  to  seek  the  river,  and 
Wesley  the  Indian  camp.  Caleb  gave  each  of  them 
a  few  matches  and  this  parting  word : 

"I'll  stay  here  till  you  come  back.  I'll  keep  up 
a  fire,  and  toward  sundown  I'll  make  a  smoke  with 
rotten  wood  and  grass  so  you  kin  find  your  way  back. 
Remember,  steer  by  the  sun ;  keep  your  main  lines  of 
travel;  don't  try  to  remember  trees  and  mudholes; 
and  if  you  get  lost,  you  make  two  smokes  well  apart 
and  stay  right  there  and  holler  every  once  in  awhile ; 
some  one  will  be  sure  to  come." 

So  about  eleven  o'clock  the  boys  set  out  eagerly. 
As  they  were  going  Blackhawk  called  to  the  others, 
First  to  carry  out  his  job  wins  a  grand  coup  /" 

"  Let  the  three  leaders  stake  their  scalps, "  said  the 
Woodpecker. 

"All  right.  First  winner  home  gets  a  scalp  from 
each  of  the  others  and  saves  his  own. " 

"Say,  boys,  you  better  take  along  your  hull  outfit, 


Two  Little  Savages 

some  grub  an'  your  blankets,"  was  the  Medicine 
Man's  last  suggestion.  "You  may  have  to  stay  out 
all  night." 

Yan  would  rather  have  had  Sam  along,  but  that 
couldn't  be,  and  Peetweet  proved  a  good  fellow, 
though  rather  slow.  They  soon  left  the  high  ground 
and  came  to  the  bog — flat  and  seemingly  endless  and 
with  a  few  tall  Tamaracks.  There  were  some  Cedar- 
birds  catching  Flies  on  the  tall  tree-tops,  and  a  single 
Flycatcher  was  calling  out:  "Whoit — whoit — whoit!" 
Yan  did  not  know  until  long  after  that  it  was  the 
Olive-side.  A  Sparrow-hawk  sailed  over,  and  later 
a  Bald  Eagle  with  a  Sparrow-hawk  in  hot  and  noisy 
pursuit.  But  the  most  curious  thing  was  the  surface 
of  the  bog.  The  spongy  stretch  of  moss  among  the 
scattering  Tamaracks  was  ^dotted  with  great  masses 
of  Pitcher  Plant,  and  half  concealed  by  the  curious 
leaves  were  thousands  of  Droserae,  or  fly-eating 
plants,  with  their  traps  set  to  secure  their  prey. 

The  bog  was  wonderful,  but  very  bad  walking. 
The  boys  sank  knee-deep  in  the  soft  moss,  and  as 
they  went  farther,  steering  only  by  the  sun,  they 
found  the  moss  sank  till  their  feet  reached  the  water 
below  and  they  were  speedily  wet  to  the  knees.  Yan 
cut  for  each  a  long  pole  to  carry  in  the  hand ;  in  case 
the  bog  gave  way  this  would  save  them  from  sinking. 
After  two  miles  of  this  Peetweet  wanted  to  go  back, 
but  was  scornfully  suppressed  by  Little  Beaver. 

Shortly  afterward  they  came  to  a  sluggish  little 
stream  in  the  bog  with  a  peculiar  red-and-yellnw 

5*4 


The  Long:  Swamp 

scum  along  its  banks.  It  was  deep  and  soft -bottomed. 
Yan  tried  it  with  the  pole — did  not  dare  to  wade,  so 
they  walked  along  its  course  till  they  found  a  small 
tree  lying  from  bank  to  bank,  then  crossed  on  this. 
Half  a  mile  farther  on  the  bog  got  dryer,  and  a  mass 
of  green  ahead  marked  one  of  the  islands  of  high 
land.  Over  this  they  passed  quickly,  keeping  the 
northwest  course.  They  now  had  a  succession  of 
small  bogs  and  large  islands.  The  sun  was  hot  here, 
and  Peetweet  was  getting  tired.  He  was  thirsty, 
too,  and  persisted  in  drinking  the  swamp  water  when 
ever  he  found  a  hole. 

"Say,  Peetweet,  you'll  suffer  for  that  if  you  don't 
quit;  that  water  isn't  fit  to  drink  unless  you  boil  it. " 

But  Peetweet  complained  of  burning  thirst  and 
drank  recklessly.  After  two  hours'  tramp  he  was 
very  tired  and  wanted  to  turn  back.  Yan  sought  a 
dry  island  and  then  gathered  sticks  for  a  fire,  but 
found  all  the  matches  they  had  were  soaking  wet 
with  wading  through  the  bog.  Peetweet  was  much 
upset  by  this,  not  on  account  of  fire  now,  but  in 
case  they  should  be  out  all  night. 

"You  wait  and  see  what  an  Indian  does,"  said 
Little  Beaver.  He  sought  for  a  dried  Balsam  Fir, 
cut  the  rubbing-sticks,  made  a  bow  of  a  slightly  bent 
branch,  and  soon  had  a  blazing  fire,  to  Peter's  utter 
amazement,  for  he  had  never  seen  the  trick  of  making 
a  fire  by  rubbing-sticks. 

After  drinking  some  tea  and  eating  a  little,  Pete 
felt  more  encouraged. 


Two  Little  Savages 

"We  have  travelled  more  than  six  miles  now,  I 
reckon,"  said  the  Chief;  "an  hour  longer  and  we 
shall  be  in  sight  of  the  forest  if  there  is  one,"  and 
Yan  led  off  across  swamps  more  or  less  open  and 
islands  of  burned  timber. 

Pete  began  to  be  appalled  by  the  distance  they 
were  putting  between  them  and  their  friends. 
"What  if  we  should  get  lost?  They  never  could 
find  us." 

"We  won't  get  lost, "  said  Yan  in  some  impatience ; 
"and  if  we  did,  what  of  it?  We  have  only  to  keep 
on  straight  north  or  south  for  four  or  five  hours  and 
we  reach  some  kind  of  a  settlement. " 

After  an  hour's  tramp  northeast  they  came  to  an 
island  with  a  tall  tree  that  had  branches  right  to  the 
ground.  Yan  climbed  up.  A  vast  extent  of  country 
lay  all  about  him — open  flat  bogs  and  timber  islands, 
and  on  far  ahead  was  a  long,  dark  mass  of  solid  ever 
green — surely  the  forest  he  sought.  Between  him 
and  it  he  saw  water  sparkling. 

"Oh,  Pete,  you  ought  to  be  up  here,"  he  shouted 
joyfully;  "it's  worth  the  climb  to  see  this  view." 

"I'd  ruther  see  our  own  back-yard,"  grumbled 
Pete. 

Yan  came  down,  his  face  aglow  with  pleasure,  and 
exclaimed:  "It's  close  to,  now!  I  saw  the  Pine 
woods.  Just  off  there.  " 

"How  far?" 

"Oh,  a  couple  of  miles,  at  most." 

"  That's  what  you  have  been  saying  all  along.  " 


The  Long  Swamp 

"Well,  I  saw  it  this  time;  and  there  is  water  out 
there.  I  saw  that,  too.  " 

He  tramped  on,  and  in  half  an  hour  they  came  to 
the  water,  a  deep,  clear,  slow  stream,  fringed  with 
scrub  willows,  covered  with  lily -pads,  and  following 
the  middle  of  a  broad,  boggy  flat.  Yan  had  looked 
for  a  pond,  and  was  puzzled  by  the  stream.  Then 
it  struck  him.  "Caleb  said  there  was  only  one  big 
stream  through  this  swamp.  This  must  be  it.  This 
is  Beaver  River." 

The  stream  was  barely  forty  feet  across ,  but  it  was 
clearly  out  of  the  quest  ion  to  find  a  pole  for  a  bridge, 
so  Yan  stripped  off,  put  all  his  things  in  a  bundle, 
and  throwing  them  over,  swam  after  them.  Pete 
had  to  come  now  or  be  left. 

As  they  were  dressing  on  the  northern  side  there 
was  a  sudden  loud  "Bang — swish!"  A  torrent 
of  water  was  thrown  in  the  air,  with  lily-pads  broken 
from  their  mooring,  the  water  pattered  down,  the 
wavelets  settled,  and  the  boys  stood  in  astonishment 
to  see  what  strange  animal  had  made  this  disturbance ; 
but  nothing  more  of  it  was  seen,  and  the  mystery 
remained  unsolved. 

Then  Yan  heard  a  familiar  "Quack!"  down  the 
stream.  He  took  his  bow  and  arrow,  while  Pete  sat 
gloomily  on  a  hummock.  As  soon  as  he  peered 
through  the  rushes  in  a  little  bay  he  saw  three  Mallard 
close  at  hand.  He  waited  till  two  were  in  line,  then 
fired,  killing  one  instantly,  and  the  others  flew  away. 
The  breeze  wafted  it  within  reach  of  a  stick,  and  he 


5*7 


Two  Little  Savages 

seized  it  and  returned  in  triumph  to  Pete,  but  found 
him  ready  to  cry.  "I  want  to  go  home!"  he  said 
miserably.  The  sight  of  the  Mallard*  cheered  him 
a  little,  and  Yan  said:  "Come  now,  Pete,  don't 
spoil  everything,  there's  a  good  .  fellow.  Brace  up, 
and  if  I  don't  show  you  the  Pine  woods  in  twenty 
minutes  I'll  turn  and  take  you  home." 

As  soon  as  they  got  to  the  next  island  they  saw 
the  Pine  wood — a  solid  green  bank  not  half  a  mile 
away,  and  the  boys  gave  a  little  cheer,  and  felt,  no 
doubt,  as  Mungo  Park  did  when  first  he  sighted  the 
Niger.  In  fifteen  minutes  they  were  walking  in  its 
dry  and  delightful  aisles. 

"  Now  we've  won, "  said  Yan,  "whatever  the  others 
do,  and  all  that  remains  is  to  get  back.  " 

"I'm  awfully  tired, "  said  Pete ;  " let's  rest  awhile. " 
Yan  looked  at  his  watch.     "It's  four  o'clock.     I 
think  we'd  better  camp  for  the  night." 

"  Oh,  no ;  I  want  to  go  home.  It  looks  like  rain.  " 
It  certainly  did,  but  Yan  replied,  "Well,  let's  eat 
first. ' '  He  delayed  as  much  as  possible  so  as  to  compel 
the  making  of  a  camp,  and  the  rain  came  unexpectedly, 
before  he  even  had  a  fire.  Yet  to  his  own  delight 
and  Peter's  astonishment  he  quickly  made  a  rubbing- 
stick  fire,  and  they  hung  up  their  wet  clothes 
about  it.  Then  he  dug  an  Indian  well  and  took  lots 
of  time  in  the  preparation,  so  it  was  six  o'clock  before 
they  began  to  eat,  and  seven  when  finished — evidently 
too  late  to  move  out  even  though  the  rain  seemed  to 
be  over.  So  Yan  collected  firewood,  made  a  bed  of 


The  Long  Swamp 

Fir  boughs  and  a  windbreak  of  bushes  and  bark.  The 
weather  was  warm,  and  with  the  fire  and  two  blankets 
they  passed  a  comfortable  night.  They  heard  their 
old  friend  the  Horned  Owl,  a  Fox  barked  his  querulous 
"Yap-yurr!"  close  at  hand,  and  once  or  twice  they 
were  awakened  by  rustling  footsteps  in  the  leaves, 
but  slept  fairly  well. 

At  dawn  Yan  was  up.  He  made  a  fire  and  heated 
some  water  for  tea.  They  had  very  little  bread  left, 
but  the  Mallard  was  untouched. 

Yan  cleaned  it,  rolled  it  in  wet  clay,  hid  it  in  the 
ashes  and  covered  it  with  glowing  coals.  This  is  an 
Indian  method  of  cooking,  but  Yan  had  not  fully 
mastered  it.  In  half  an  hour  he  opened  his  clay  pie 
and  found  the  Duck  burned  on  one  side  and  very  raw 
on  the  other.  Part  of  it  was  good,  however,  so  he 
called  his  companion  to  breakfast.  Pete  sat  up  white- 
faced  and  miserable,  evidently  a  sick  boy.  Not  only 
had  he  *caught  cold,  but  he  was  upset  by  the  swamp 
water  he  had  taken.  He  was  paying  the  penalty 
of  his  indiscretion.  He  ate  a  little  and  drank  some 
tea,  then  felt  better,  but  clearly  was  unable  to  travel 
that  day.  Now  for  the  first  time  Yan  felt  a  qualm 
of  fear.  Separated  by  a  dozen  miles  of  swamp  from 
all  help,  what  could  he  do  with  a  sick  boy?  He 
barked  a  small  dead  tree  with  a  knife,  then  on  the 
smooth  surface  wrote  with  a  pencil,  "Yan  Yeoman 
and  Pete  Boyle  camped  here  August  10,  18 — " 

He  made  Pete  comfortable  by  the  fire,  and,  looking 
for  tracks,  he  found  that  during  the  night  two  Deer 


* 
Two  Little  Savages 

had  come  nearly  into  the  camp;  then  he  climbed  a 
high  tree  and  scanned  the  southern  horizon  for  a 
smoke  sign.  He  saw  none  there,  but  to  the  north 
west,  beyond  some  shining  yellow  hills,  he  discovered 
a  level  plain  dotted  over  with  black  Fir  clumps ;  from 
one  of  these  smoke  went  up,  and  near  it  were  two  or 
three  white  things  like  teepees. 

Yan  hurried  down  to  tell  Pete  the  good  news,  but 
when  he  confessed  that  it  was  two  miles  farther  from 
home  Pete  had  no  notion  of  going  to  the  Indian  camp ; 
so  Yan  made  a  smoke  fire,  and  knife-blazing  the 
saplings  on  two  sides  as  he  went,  he  set  out  alone  for 
the  Indian  camp.  Getting  there  in  half  an  hour,  he 
found  two  log  shanties  and  three  teepees.  As  he 
came  near  he  had  to  use  a  stick  to  keep  off  the  numer 
ous  Dogs.  The  Indians  proved  shy,  as  usual,  to 
White  visitors.  Yan  made  some  signs  that  he  had 
learned  from  Caleb.  Pointing  to  himself,  he  held  up 
two  fingers — meaning  that  he  was  two.  Then  he 
pointed  to  the  Pine  woods  and  made  sign  of  the  other 
lying  down,  and  added  the  hungry  sign  by  pressing 
in  his  stomach  with  the  edges  of  the  hands,  meaning 
"I  am  cut  in  two  here."  The  Chief  Indian  offered 
him  a  Deer-tongue,  but  did  not  take  further  interest. 
Yan  received  it  thankfully,  made  a  hasty  sketch  of 
the  camp,  and  returned  to  find  Pete  much  better, 
but  thoroughly  alarmed  at  being  so  long  alone.  He 
was  able  and  anxious  now  to  go  back.  Yan  led  off, 
carrying  all  the  things  of  the  outfit,  and  his  comrade 
followed  slowly  and  peevishly.  When  they  came  to 


520 


The  Long:  Swamp 

the  river,  Pete  held  back  in  fear,  believing  that  the 
loud  noise  they  had  heard  was  made  by  some  monster 
of  the  deep,  who  would  seize  them. 

Yan  was  certain  it  could  be  only  an  explosion  of 
swamp  gas,  and  forced  Pete  to  swim  across  by  setting 
the  example.  What  the  cause  really  was  they  never 
learned. 

They  travelled  very  fast  now  for  a  time.  Pete 
was  helped  by  the  knowledge  that  he  was  really  going 
home.  A  hasty  lunch  of  Deer-tongue  delayed  them 
but  little.  At  three  they  sighted  Caleb's  smoke  signal, 
and  at  four  they  burst  into  camp  with  yells  of  triumph. 

Caleb  fired  off  his  revolver,  and  Turk  bayed  his 
basso  profundo  full-cry  Fox  salute.  All  the  others 
had  come  back  the  night  before. 

Sam  said  he  had  "gone  ten  mile  and  never  got  a 
sight  of  that  blamed  river."  Guy  swore  they  had 
gone  forty  miles,  and  didn't  believe  there  was  any 
such  river. 

"What  kind  o'  country  did  you  see?" 

"Nothin'  but  burned  land  and  rocks." 

"  H-m,  you  went  too  far  west — was  runnin'  parallel 
with  Beaver  River." 

"Now,  Blackhawk,  give  an  account  of  yourself  to 
Little  Beaver,"  said  Woodpecker.  "Did  you  two 
win  out  ? ' ' 

"Well,"  replied  the  Boiler  Chief,  "if  Hawkeye 
travelled  forty  miles,  we  must  have  gone  sixty.  We 
pointed  straight  north  for  three  hours  and  never  saw 
a  thing  but  bogs  and  islands  of  burned  timber — never 

521 


Two  Little  Savages 

a  sign  of  a  plain  or  of  Indians.  I  don't  believe  there 
are  any." 

"Did  you  see  any  sandhills?"  asked  Little  Beaver. 

"No." 

"Then  you  didn't  get  within  miles  of  it." 

Now  he  told  his  own  story,  backed  by  Pete,  and  he 
was  kind  enough  to  leave  out  all  about  Peetweet's 
whimpering.  His  comrade  responded  to  this  by 
giving  a  glowing  account  of  Yan's  Woodcraft,  espe 
cially  dwelling  on  the  feat  of  the  rubbing-stick  fire  in 
the  rain,  and  when  they  finished  Caleb  said: 

"Yan,  you  won,  and  you  more  than  won,  for  you 
found  the  green  timber  you  went  after,  you  found 
the  river  Sam  went  after,  an'  the  Injuns  Wesley  went 
after.  Sam  and  Wesley,  hand  over  your  scalps." 


i?f 


if? 


522 


XXX 
A  New  Kind  of  Coon 

A  MERRY  meal  now  followed,  chaffing  and  jokes 
passed  several  hours  away,  but  the  boys  were 
rested  and  restless  by  nine  o'clock  and  eager 
for  more  adventures. 

"Aren't  there  any  Coons  'round  here,  Mr.  Clark?" 

"Oh,  I  reckon  so.  Y-e-s  !  Down  a  piece  in  the 
hardwood  bush  near  Widdy  Biddy  Baggs's  place 
there's  lots  o'  likely  Cooning  ground." 

That  was  enough  to  stir  them  all,  for  the  place 
was  near  at  hand.  Peetweet  alone  was  for  staying 
in  camp,  but  when  told  that  he  might  stay  and  keep 
house  by  himself  he  made  up  his  mind  to  get  all  the 
fun  he  could.  The  night  was  hot  and  moonless, 
Mosquitoes  abundant,  and  in  trampling  and  scram 
bling  through  the  gloomy  woods  the  hunters  had 
plenty  of  small  troubles,  but  they  did  not  mind  that 
so  long  as  Turk  was  willing  to  do  his  part.  Once  or 
twice  he  showed  signs  of  interest  in  the  trail,  but  soon 
decided  against  it. 

Thus  they  worked  toward  the  Widdy  Baggs's  till 
they  came  to  a  dry  brook  bed.  Turk  began  at  once 
to  travel  up  this,  while  Caleb  tried  to  make  him  go 
down.  But  the  Dog  recognized  no  superior  officer 
when  hunting.  After  leading  his  impatient  army  a 

523 


Two  Little  Savages 

quarter  of  a  mile  away  from  the  really  promising 
heavy  timber,  Turk  discovered  what  he  was  after,  and 
that  was  a  little  muddy  puddle.  In  this  he  calmly 
lay  down,  puffing;  panting  and  lapping  with  energy, 
and  his  humble  human  followers  had  nothing  to 
do  but  sit  on  a  log  and  impatiently  await  his  lord 
ship's  pleasure.  Fifteen  minutes  went  by,  and  Turk 
was  still  enjoying  himself,  when  Sam  ventured  at 
last: 

"  'Pears  to  me  if  I  owned  a  Dog  I'd  own  him. " 

"There's  no  use  crowdin'  him,"  was  the  answer. 
"He's  runnin'  this  hunt,  an'  he  knows  it.  A  Dog 
without  a  mind  of  his  own  is  no  'count. " 

So  when  Turk  had  puffed  like  a  Porpoise,  grunted 
and  wallowed  like  a  Hog,  to  his  heart's  content  and 
to  the  envy  of  the  eight  who  sat  sweltering  and 
impatient,  he  arose,  all  dribbling  ooze,  probably  to 
seek  a  new  wallowing  place,  when  his  nose  discovered 
something  on  the  bank  that  had  far  more  effect  than 
all  the  coaxings  and  threats  of  the  "waiting  line," 
and  he  gave  a  short  bark  that  was  a  note  of  joy  for 
the  boys.  They  were  all  attention  now,  as  the  old 
Hound  sniffed  it  out,  and  in  a  few  moments  stirred  the 
echoes  with  an  opening  blast  of  his  deepest  strain. 

"Turk's  struck  it  rich!"  opined  Caleb. 

The  old  Dog's  bawling  was  strong  now,  but  not 
very  regular,  showing  that  the  hunted  animal's 
course  was  crooked.  Then  there  was  a  long  break 
in  it,  showing  possibly  that  the  creature  had  run  a 
fence  or  swung  from  one  tree  to  another. 


524 


A  New  Kind  of  Coon 

"That's  a  Coon,"  said  Yan  eagerly,  for  he  had  not 
forgotten  any  detail  of  the  other  lesson. 

Caleb  made  no  reply. 

The  Hound  tongued  a  long  way  off,  but  came  back 
to  the  pond  and  had  one  or  two  checks. 

"It's  a  great  running  for  a  Coon,"  Yan  remarked, 
at  length  in  doubt.  Then  to  Caleb,  "What  do  you 
think?" 

Caleb  answered  slowly:  "I  dunno  what  to  think. 
It  runs  too  far  for  a  Coon,  an'  'tain't  treed  yet;  an' 
I  kin  tell  by  the  Dog's  voice  he's  mad.  If  you  was 
near  him  now  you'd  see  all  his  back  hair  stannin'  up.  " 

Another  circle  was  announced  by  the  Dog's  baying, 
and  then  the  long,  continuous,  high-pitched  yelping 
told  that  the  game  was  treed  at  last. 

"Well,  that  puts  Fox  and  Skunk  out  of  it,"  said 
the  Trapper,  "but  it  certainly  don't  act  like  a  Coon  on 
the  ground." 

"  First  there  gets  the  Coon  !  "  shouted  Blackhawk, 
and  the  boys  skurried  through  the  dark  woods, 
getting  many  a  scratch  and  fall.  As  it  was,  Yan  and 
Wesley  arrived  together  and  touched  the  tree  at  the 
same  moment.  The  rest  came  straggling  up,  with 
Char -less  last  and  Guy  a  little  ahead  of  him.  Guy 
wanted  to  relate  the  full  particulars  of  his  latest 
glorious  victory  over  Char-less,  but  all  attention 
was  now  on  old  Turk,  who  was  barking  savagely  up 
the  tree. 

"Don't  unnerstan'  it  at  all,  at  all,"  said  Caleb. 
"Coony  kind  o'  tree,  but  Dog  don't  act  Coony." 

525 


Two  Little  Savages 

"Let's  have  a  fire,"  said  the  Woodpecker,  and  the 
two  crowds  of  boys  began  each  a  fire  and  strove 
hard  to  get  theirs  first  ablaze. 

The  firelight  reached  far  up  into  the  night,  and 
once  or  twice  the  hunters  thought  they  saw  the 
shining  eyes  of  the  Coon. 

"Now  who's  to  climb?"  asked  the  Medicine  Man. 

"I  will,  I  will,"  etc.,  seven  times  repeated;  even 
Guy  and  Char-less  chimed  in. 

"You're  mighty  keen  hunters,  but  I  want  you  to 
know  I  can't  tell  what  it  is  that's  up  that  tree.  It 
may  be  a  powerful  big  Coon,  but  seems  to  me  the  Dog 
acts  a  little  like  it  was  a  Cat,  and  'tain't  so  long  since 
there  was  Painter  in  this  county.  The  fact  of  him 
treeing  for  Turk  don't  prove  that  he's  afraid  of  a 
Dog;  lots  of  animals  does  that  'cause  they  don't 
want  to  be  bothered  with  his  noise.  If  it's  a  Cat, 
him  as  climbs  is  liable  to  get  his  face  scratched. 
Judging  by  the  actions  of  the  Dog,  /  think  it's 
something  dangerous.  Now  who  wants  the  job?" 

For  awhile  no  one  spoke.  Then  Yan,  "I'll  go  if 
you'll  lend  me  the  revolver." 

"So  would  I,"  said  Wesley  quickly. 

"Well,  now,  we'll  draw  straws" — and  Yan  won. 
Caleb  felled  a  thin  tree  against  the  big  one  and  Yan 
climbed  as  he  had  done  once  before. 

There  was  an  absence  of  the  joking  and  charring 
that  all  had  kept  up  when  on  the  other  occasion 
Yan  went  after  the  Coon.  There  was  a  tension  that 
held  them  still  and  reached  the  climber  to  thrill  him 

0 

526 


A  New  Kind  of  Coon 

with  a  weird  sense  of  venturing  into  black  darkness 
to  face  a  fearful  and  mysterious  danger.  The 
feeling  increased  as  he  climbed  from  the  leaning 
tree  to  the  great  trunk  of  the  Basswood,  to  lose  sight 
of  his  comrades  in  the  wilderness  of  broad  leaves  and 
twisted  tree-arms.  The  dancing  firelight  sent  shadow- 
blots  and  light-spots  in  a  dozen  directions  with  fan 
tastic  effect.  Some  of  the  feelings  of  the  night  at 
Garney's  grave  came  back  to  him,  but  this  time 
with  the  knowledge  of  real  danger.  A  little  higher 
and  he  was  out  of  sight  of  his  friends  below.  The 
danger  began  to  appal  him;  he  wanted  to  go  back,  and 
to  justify  the  retreat  he  tried  to  call  out,  "No  Coon 
here  !"  but  his  voice  failed  him,  and,  as  he  clung  to 
the  branch,  he  remembered  Caleb's  words,  "There's 
nothing  ahead  of  grit,  an'  grit  ain't  so  much  not 
bein'  scairt  as  it  is  goin'  straight  ahead  when  you  are 
scairt."  No;  he  would  go  on,  come  what  would. 

"Find  anything?"  drawled  a  cheery  voice  below, 
just  at  the  right  time. 

Yan  did  not  pause  to  answer,  but  continued  to 
climb  into  the  gloom.  Then  he  thought  he 
heard  a  Coon  snarl  above  him.  He  swung  to 
a  higher  branch  and  shouted,  "Coon  here,  all 
right ! ' '  but  the  moment  he  did  so  a  rattling 
growl  sounded  close  to  him,  and  looking  down 
he  saw  a  huge  grey  beast  spring  to  a  large  branch 
between  him  and  the  ground,  then  come  climb 
ing  savagely  toward  him.  As  it  leaped  to  a 
still  nearer  place  Yan  got  a  dim  view  of  a  curious 


Two  Little  Savages 

four-cornered  face,  shaggy  and  striped,  like  the  one 
he  saw  so  long  ago  in  Glenyan — it  was  an  enor 
mous  Lynx. 

Yan  got  such  a  shock  that  he  nearly  lost  his  hold, 
but  quickly  recovering,  he  braced  himself  in  a  crotch, 
and  got  out  the  revolver  just  as  the  Lynx  with  a  fierce 
snarl  leaped  to  a  side  branch  that  brought  it  nearly 
on  a  level  with  him.  He  nervously  cocked  the 
pistol,  and  scarcely  attempting  to  sight  in  the  dark 
ness,  he  fired  and  missed.  The  Lynx  recoiled  a  little 
and  crouched  at  the  report.  The  boys  below  raised  a 
shout  and  Turk  outdid  them  all  in  racket. 

"A  Lynx!"  shouted  Yan,  and  his  voice  betrayed 
his  struggle  with  fear. 

"Look  out!"  Caleb  called.  "You  better  not  let 
him  get  too  close." 

The  Lynx  was  growling  ferociously.  Yan  put 
forth  all  his  will-power  to  control  his  trembling  hand, 
took  more  deliberate  aim,  and  fired.  The  fierce 
beast  was  struck,  but  leaped  wildly  at  the  boy. 
He  threw  up  his  arm  and  it  buried  its  teeth  in  his 
flesh,  while  Yan  clung  desperately  to  the  tree  with 
the  other  arm.  In  a  moment  he  knew  he  would  be 
dragged  off  and  thrown  to  the  ground,  yet  felt  less 
fear  now  than  he  had  before.  He  clutched  for  the 
revolver  with  the  left  hand,  but  it  found  only  the 
fur  of  the  Lynx,  and  the  revolver  dropped  from  his 
grasp.  Now  he  was  indeed  without  hope,  and  dark 
fear  fell  on  him.  But  the  beast  was  severely  wounded. 
Its  hind  quarters  were  growing  heavy.  It  loosed 


He  nervously  fired  and  missed 


A  New  Kind  of  Coon 

its  hold  of  Yan  and  struggled  to  get  on  the  limb. 
A  kick  from  his  right  foot  upset  its  balance ;  it  slipped 
from  the  tree  and  flopped  to  the  ground  below, 
wounded,  but  full  of  fight.  Turk  rushed  at  it,  but 
got  a  blow  from  its  armed  paw  that  sent  him  off 
howling. 

A  surge  of  reaction  came  over  Yan.  He  might 
have  fainted,  but  again  he  remembered  the  Trapper's 
words,  "Bravery  is  keeping  on  even  when  you  are 
skairt."  He  pulled  himself  together  and  very 
cautiously  worked  his  way  back  to  the  leaning  tree. 
Hearing  strange  sounds,  yells,  growls,  sounds  of 
conflict  down  below,  expecting  every  moment  to  hear 
the  Lynx  scramble  up  the  trunk  again,  to  finish 
him,  dimly  hearing  but  not  comprehending  the 
shouts,  he  rested  once  at  the  leaning  tree  and 
breathed  freely. 

"Hurry  up,  Yan,  with  that  revolver,"  shouted 
Blackhawk. 

"I  dropped  it  long  ago." 

"Where  is  it  ?" 

Yan  slid  down  the  sapling  without  making  reply. 
The  Lynx  had  gone,  but  not  far.  It  would  have  got 
away,  but  Turk  kept  running  around  and  bothering 
it  so  it  could  not  even  climb  a  tree,  and  the  noise 
they  made  in  the  thicket  was  easy  to  follow. 

"Where's  the  revolver?"  shouted  Caleb,  with 
unusual  excitement. 

"I  dropped  it  in  the  fight." 

"I  know;  I  heard  it  fall  in  the  bushes,"  and  Sam 
soon  found  it. 

531 


Two  Little  Savages 

Caleb  seized  it,  but  Yan  said  feebly,  "Let  me! 
Let  me  !  It's  my  fight !  " 

Caleb  surrendered  the  pistol,  said  "Look  out  for 
the  Dog!"  and  Ya'n  crawled  through  the  bushes  till 
that  dark  moving  form  was  seen  again.  Another 
shot  and  another.  The  sound  of  combat  died  away, 
and  the  Indians  raised  a  yell  of  triumph — all  but 
Little  Beaver.  A  giddiness  came  over  him;  he 
trembled  and  reeled,  and  sank  down  on  a  root.  Caleb 
and  Sam  came  up  quickly. 

"What's  the  matter,  Yan?" 

"I'm  sick — I " 

Caleb  took  his  arm.  It  was  wet.  A  match  was 
struck. 

"Hallo,  you're  bleeding." 

"Yes,  he  had  me — he  caught  me  up  the  tree.  I — 
I — thought  I  was  a  goner." 

All  interest  was  now  turned  from  the  dead  Lynx 
to  the  wounded  boy. 

"Let's  get  him  to  the  water." 

"Guess  the  camp  well  is  the  nearest." 

Caleb  and  Sam  took  care  of  Yan,  while  the  others 
brought  the  Lynx.  Yan  grew  better  as  they  moved 
slowly  homeward.  He  told  all  about  the  attack 
of  the  Lynx. 

"Gosh!  I'd  'a'  been  scared  out  o'  my  wits,"  said 
Sam. 

"Guess  I  would,  too,"  added  Caleb,  to  the  surprise 
of  the  Tribe;  "up  there,  helpless,  with  a  wounded 
Lynx — I  tell  you  !  " 

532 


A  New  Kind  of  Coon 

"Well,  I  was  scared — just  as  scared  as  I  could  be," 
admitted  Yan. 

At  camp  a  blazing  fire  gave  its  lurid  light.  Cold 
water  was  handy  and  Yan's  bleeding  arm  was  laid 
bare.  He  was  shocked  and  yet  secretly  delighted  to 
see  what  a  mauling  he  had  got,  for  his  shirt  sleeve 
was  soaked  with  blood,  and  the  wondering  words 
of  his  friends  was  sweetest  music  to  his  ears. 

Caleb  and  'the  city  boy  dressed  his  wounds,  and 
when  washed  they  did  not  look  so  very  dreadful. 

They  were  too  much  excited  to  sleep  for  an  hour, 
at  least,  and  as  they  sat  about  the  fire — that  they 
did  not  need  but  would  not  dream  of  doing  without — 
Yan  found  no  lack  of  enthusiasm  in  the  circle,  and 
blushed  with  pleasure  to  be  the  hero  of  the  camp. 
Guy  didn't  see  anything  to  make  so  much  fuss  about, 
but  Caleb  said,  "I  knowed  it;  I  always  knowed  you 
was  the  stuff,  after  the  night  you  went  to  Garney's 
grave. 


533 


XXXI 
On  the  Old  Camp  Ground 

IT  was  threatening  to  rain  again  in  the  morning  and 
the  Indians  expected  to  tramp  home  heavy  laden 
in  the  wet.  But  their  Medicine  Man  had  a 
surprise  in  store.  "I  found  an  old  friend  not  far 
from  here  and  fixed  it  up  with  him  to  take  us  all 
home  in  his  wagon."  They  walked  out  to  the  edge 
of  the  rough  land  and  found  a  farm  wagon  with 
two  horses  and  a  driver.  They  got  in,  and  in  little 
less  than  a  hour  were  safely  back  to  the  dear  old 
camp  by  the  pond. 

The  rain  was  over  now,  and  as  Caleb  left  for  his 
own  home  he  said: 

"Say,  boys,  how  about  that  election  for  Head 
Chief?  I  reckon  it's  due  now.  Suppose  you  wait 
till  to-morrow  afternoon  at  four  o'clock  an'  I'll  show 
you  how  to  do  it." 

That  night  Yan  and  his  friend  were  alone  in  their 
teepee.  His  arm  was  bound  up,  and  proud  he  was 
of  those  bandages  and  delighted  with  the  trifling 
red  spots  that  appeared  yet  on  the  last  layer;  but 
he  was  not  in  pain,  nor,  indeed,  the  worse  for  the 
adventure,  for,  thanks  to  his  thick  shirt,  there  was 
no  poisoning.  He  slept  as  usual  till  long  after 
midnight,  then  awoke  in  bed  with  a  peculiar  feeling 

534 


On  the  Old  Camp  Ground 

of  well-being  and  clearness  of  mind.  He  had  no 
bodily  sense;  he  seemed  floating  alone,  not  in  the 
teepee  nor  in  the  woods,  but  in  the  world — not 
dreaming,  but  wide  awake — more  awake  than  ever 
in  his  life  before,  for  all  his  life  came  clearly  into 
view  as  never  before:  his  stern,  religious  training; 
his  father,  refined  and  well-meaning,  but  blind, 
compelling  him  to  embark  in  a  profession  to  which 
he  was  little  inclined,  and  to  give  up  the  one  thing 
next  his  heart — his  Woodcraft  lore. 

Then  Raft  en  stepped  into  view,  loud-voiced, 
externally  coarse,  but  blessed  with  a  good  heart  and  a 
sound  head.  The  farmer  suffered  sadly  in  contrast 
with  the  father,  and  yet  Yan  had  to  suppress  the 
wish  that  Raften  were  his  father.  What  had  they  in 
common?  Nothing;  and  yet  Raften  had  given  him 
two  of  the  dearest  things  in  life.  He,  the  head  of 
the  house,  a  man  of  force  and  success,  had  treated 
Yan  with  respect.  Yan  was  enough  like  his  own 
father  to  glory  in  the  unwonted  taste;  and  like  that 
other  rugged  stranger  long  ago  in  Glenyan,  Raften 
had  also  given  him  sympathy.  Instead  of  consid 
ering  his  Woodcraft  pursuits  mere  trifling,  the  farmer 
had  furthered  them,  and  even  joined  to  follow  for  a 
time.  The  thought  of  Bonnerton  came  back.  Yan 
knew  he  must  return  in  a  year  at  most ;  he  knew  that 
his  dearest  ambition  of  a  college  course  in  zoology 
was  never  to  be  realized,  for  his  father  had  told  him 
he  must  go  as  errand  boy  at  the  first  opening.  Again 
his  rebellious  spirit  was  stirred,  to  what  purpose 

535 


Two  Little  Savages 

he  did  not  know.  He  would  rather  stay  here  on  the 
farm  with  the  Raftens.  But  his  early  Scriptural 
training  was  not  without  effect.  "  Honour  thy  father 
and  thy  mother  "  was  of  lasting  force.  He  felt  it 
to  be  a  binding  duty.  He  could  not  rebel  if  he 
would.  No,  he  would  obey;  and  in  that  resolution 
new  light  came.  In  taking  him  from  college  and 
sending  him  to  the  farm  his  father  had  appar 
ently  cut  off  his  hope  of  studies  next  his  heart. 
Instead  of  suffering  loss  by  this  obedience,  he  had 
come  to  the  largest  opportunity  of  his  life. 

Yes  !  He  would  go  back — be  errand  boy  or  any 
thing  to  make  a  living,  but  in  his  hours  of  freedom 
he  would  keep  a  little  kingdom  of  his  own.  The  road 
to  it  might  lie  through  the  cellar  of  a  grocer's  shop, 
but  he  would  not  flinch.  He  would  strive  and  struggle 
as  a  naturalist.  When  he  had  won  the  insight  he 
was  seeking,  the  position  he  sought  would  follow,  for 
every  event  in  the  woodland  life  had  shown  him— 
had  shown  them  all,  that  his  was  the  kingdom  of  the 
Birds  and  Beasts  and  the  power  to  comprehend  them. 

And  he  seemed  to  float,  happy  in  the  fading  of  all 
doubt,  glad  in  the  sense  of  victory.  There  was  a 
noise  outside.  The  teepee  door  was  forced  gently; 
a  large  animal  entered.  At  another  time  Yan  might 
have  been  alarmed,  but  the  uplift  of  his  vision  was 
on  him  still.  He  watched  it  with  curious  unalarm. 
It  gently  came  to  his  bed,  licked  his  hand  and  laid 
down  beside  him.  It  was  old  Turk,  and  this  was 
the  first  time  he  had  heeded  any  of  them  but  Caleb. 


XXXII 
The  New  War  Chief 

CALEB  had  been  very  busy  all  the  day  before, 
doing  no  one  knew  what,  and  Saryann  was 
busy,  too.  She  had  been  very  busy  for  long, 
but  now  she  was  bustling.  Then,  it  seems,  Caleb  had 
gone  to  Mrs.  Raften,  and  she  was  very  busy,  and  Guy 
made  a  flying  visit  to  Mrs.  Burns,  and  she  had  become 
busy.  Thus  they  turned  the  whole  neighbourhood 
into  a  "bee." 

For  this  was  Sanger,  where  small  gatherings  held 
the  same  place  as  the  club,  theatre  and  newspaper 
do  in  the  lives  of  city  folk.  No  matter  what  the 
occasion,  a  christening,  wedding  or  funeral,  a  logging, 
a  threshing,  a  home-coming  or  a  parting,  the  fin 
ishing  of  a  new  house  or  the  buying  of  a  new  har 
ness  or  fanning-mill,  any  one  of  these  was  ample 
grounds  for  one  of  their  "  talking  bees ";  so  it  was 
easy  to  set  the  wheels  a-running. 

At  three  o'clock  three  processions  might  have 
been  seen  wending  through  the  woods.  One  was 
from  Burns's,  including  the  whole  family;  one  from 
Raften's,  comprising  the  family  and  the  hired  men; 
one  from  Caleb's,  made  up  of  Saryann  and  many  of 
the  Boyles.  All  brought  baskets. 

They  were  seated  in  a  circle  on  the  pleasant  grassy 


Two  Little  Savages 

bank  of  the  pond.  Caleb  and  Sam  took  charge  of  the 
ceremonies.  First,  there  were  foot-races,  in  which 
Yan  won  in  spite  of  his  wounded  arm,  the  city  boy 
making  a  good  second;  then  target-shooting  and 
"Deer-hunting,"  that  Yan  could  not  take  part  in. 
It  was  not  in  the  programme,  but  Raften  insisted 
on  seeing  Yan  measure  the  height  of  a  knot  in  a  tree 
without  going  to  it,  and  grinned  with  delight  when 
he  found  it  was  accurate. 

" Luk  at  that  for  eddication,  Sam!"  he  roared. 
"When  will  ye  be  able  to  do  the  like?  Arrah,  but 
ye're  good  stuff,  Yan,  an'  I've  got  something  here'll 
plase  ye." 

Raften  now  pulled  out  his  purse  and  as  magistrate 
paid  over  with  evident  joy  the  $5  bounty  due  for 
killing  the  Lynx.  Then  he  added:  "An'  if  it  turns 
out  as  ye  all  claim"  [and  it  did]  "that  this  yer  beast 
is  the  Sheep-killer  instid  av  old  Turk,  I'll  add  that 
other  tin." 

Thus  Yan  came  into  the  largest  sum  he  had  ever 
owned  in  his  life. 

Then  the  Indians  went  into  their  teepees.  Caleb 
set  up  a  stake  in  the  ground  and  on  that  a  new  shield 
of  wood  covered  with  rawhide ;  over  the  rawhide  was 
lightly  fastened  a  piece  of  sacking. 

The  guests  were  in  a  circle  around  this;  at  one 
side  were  some  skins — Yan's  Lynx  and  Coon — and 
the  two  stuffed  Owls. 

Then  the  drum  was  heard,  "Turn-turn — turn-turn — 
turn-turn — turn-turn "  There  was  a  volley  of 

538 


The  New  War  Chief 

war-whoops,  and  out  of  the  teepees  dashed  the  Sanger 
Indians  in  full  war  paint. 

«Ki  ki— fci  yi— ki  yi  yi  yi 
Ki  yi — ki  yi— ki  yi  yi  yi ! " 

They  danced  in  exact  time  to  the  two-measure  of 
the  drum  that  was  pounded  by  Blackhawk.  Three 
times  round  the  central  post  with  the  shield  they 
danced,  then  the  drum  stopped,  and  they  joined 
in  a  grand  final  war-whoop  and  squatted  in  a  circle 
within  that  of  the  guests. 

The  Great  Woodpecker  now  arose — his  mother  had 
to  be  told  who  it  was — and  made  a  characteristic 
speech : 

"Big  Chiefs,  Little  Chiefs,  and  Squapooses  of  the 
Sanger  Indians:  A  number  of  things  has  happened 
to  rob  this  yer  nation  of  its  noble  Head  Chief;  they 
kin  never  again  expect  to  have  his  equal,  but  this 
yer  assembly  is  for  to  pick  out  a  new  one.  We  had 
a  kind  of  whack  at  it  the  other  day,  but  couldn't 
agree.  Since  then  we  had  a  hard  trip,  and  things 
has  cleared  up  some,  same  as  puttin'  Kittens  in  a 
pond  will  tell  which  one  is  the  swimmer,  an'  we're 
here  to-day  to  settle  it.  " 

Loud  cries  of  "  How — how — how — how "  while 

Blackhawk  pounded  the  drum  vigorously. 

"  O'  course  different  ones  has  different  gifts.  Now 
who  in  all  this  Tribe  is  the  best  runner?  That's 
Little  Beaver. " 

("How — how — how — how — how — "  and  drum.) 


539 


Two  Little  Savages 

"That's  my  drum,  Ma  !  "  said  Guy  aside, forgetting 
to  applaud. 

"Who  is  the  best  trailer  and  climber?  Little 
Beaver,  again,  I  reckon." 

("  How — how — how — how —  "  and  drum.) 

("He  can't  see  worth  a  cent !"  whispered  Guy  to 
his  mother.) 

"Who  was  it  won  the  trial  of  grit  at  Garney's 
grave  ?  Why,  it  was  Little  Beaver.  " 

("  An'  got  pretty  badly  scared  doin'  it !  "  was  Guy's 
aside.) 

"But  who  was  it  shot  the  Cat-Owl  plumb  in  the 
heart,  an'  fit  the  Lynx  hand  to  hand,  not  to  speak 
of  the  Coon?  Little  Beaver  every  time." 

("  Hen  ever  killed  a  Woodchuck  in  his  life,  Ma  !  ") 

"Then,  again,  which  of  us  can  lay  all  the  others  on 
his  back?  Little  Beaver,  I  s'pose. " 

("Well,  I  can  lick  Char-less,  any  time,"  was  Guy's 
aside.) 

"Which  of  us  has  most  grand  coups  and  scalps ? " 

"Ye're  forgittin'  his  eddication,"  put  in  Raften, 
to  be  scornfully  ignored;  even  Little  Beaver  resented 
this  as  un-Indian. 

"Which  has  most  scalps?"  Sam  repeated  with 
sternness.  "Here's  a  scalp  won  in  battle  with  the 
inimy, "  Woodpecker  held  it  up,  and  the  Medicine 
Man  fastened  it  on  the  edge  of  the  shield  that  hung 
from  the  post. 

"  Here  is  one  tuk  from  the  Head  Chief  of  the  hos- 
tiles, "  and  Caleb  fastened  that  to  the  shield.  "  Here 

540 


The  New  War  Chief 


is  another  tuk  from  the  Second  Chief  of  the  hostiles," 
and  Caleb  placed  it.  "  Here  is  one  tuk  from  the  Great 
Head  War  Chief  of  the  Sangers,  and  here  is  one  from 
the  Head  Chief  of  the  Boilers,  and  another  tuk  in 
battle.  Six  scalps  from  six  famous  warriors.  This 
yere  is  the  record  for  the  whole  Tribe,  an'  Little 
Beaver  done  it;  besides  which,  he  draws  pictures, 
writes  poethry  and  cooks  purty  good,  an'  I  say  Little 
Beaver  is  the  one  for  Chief!  What  says  the  rest  ?" 
and  with  one  voice  they  shouted,  "Hoorah  for  Little 
Beaver!" 

"  How — how — how — how — how  —  thump,  thump, 
thump,  thump." 

"Any  feller  anything  to  say  agin  it  ? " 

"I  eh "  Guy  began. 

— "has  got  to  lick  the  Chief,"  Sam  continued, 
and  Guy  did  not  complete  his  objection,  though  he 
whispered  to  his  mother,  "If  it  was  Char-less  I  bet 
I'd  show  him." 

Caleb  now  pulled  the  cover  off  the  shield  that  he 
fastened  the  scalps  to,  and  it  showed  the  white  Buffalo 
of  the  Sangers  with  a  Little  Beaver  above  it.  Then 
he  opened  a  bundle  lying  near  and  produced  a  gor 
geous  war-shirt  of  buff  leather,  a  pair  of  leggins  and 
moccasins,  all  fringed,  beaded  and  painted,  made  by 
Saryann  under  Caleb's  guidance.  They  were  quickly 
put  on  the  new  Chief;  his  war  bonnet,  splendid  with 
the  plumes  of  his  recent  exploits,  was  all  ready;  and 
proud  and  happy  in  his  new-found  honours,  not 
least  of  which  were  his  wounds,  he  stepped  forward. 


54i 


Two  Little  Savages 

Caleb  viewed  him  with  paternal  pride  and  said:  "I 
knowed  ye  was  the  stuff  the  night  ye  went  to  Gar- 
ney's  grave,  an'  I  knowed  it  again  when  ye  crossed 
the  Big  Swamp.  Yan,  ye  could  travel  anywhere 
that  man  could  go,"  and  in  that  sentence  the  boy's 
happiness  was  complete.  He  surely  was  a  Wood- 
crafter  now.  He  stammered  in  a  vain  attempt  to 
say  something  appropriate,  till  Sam  relieved  him  by: 
"Three  cheers  for  the  Head  War  Chief!"  and  when 
the  racket  was  over  the  women  opened  their  baskets 
and  spread  the  picnic  feast.  Raften,  who  had  been 
much  gratified  by  his  son's  flow  of  speech,  recorded 
a  new  vow  to  make  him  study  law,  but  took 
advantage  of  the  first  gap  in  the  chatter  to  say : 

"Bhise,  ye'r  two  weeks'  holiday  with  wan  week 
extension  was  up  at  noon  to-day.  In  wan  hour  an'  a 
half 'the  Pigs  is  fed." 


542 


INDEX 


ARAPAHOES,  303 

Arrows — 

How  to  make,  179-181 
Individuality  of,  187 

Arrow- wood,  179 

Illustration  of,  180 

Ash- 
White,  78 
Illustration  of,  79 
Black,  78 

BAGGS'S,  Widdy,  place,  523 
Bald  Eagle,  514 
Bald-Eagle-Settin'-on-a-Rock- 

with-his-  Tail  -  Hangin'-  over 

the-Edge,  195 
Balsam,  78 

Balsam-fir,  170,  171,  255 
Balsam  bark,  used  for  tanning, 

369 

Boughs  for  bed,  255 
Wood   for  rubbing-sticks, 

171 
Illustration  of,  234 

Banshee,  the,  461,  467 

Basswood,  170 

Usually  hollow,  450 
Leaf  illustration,  48 

Beavering,  197 

Bear  hunt,  468 

Beaver  River,  512 

Beech,  78 

Illustration  of,  78 
Blue,  illustration  of,  206 


Biddy,  71-75 
Birch- 
White,  78 

Black,  78 

Canoe,  118, 218 

Dishes,  186 

Mahogany, 218 

Sweet,  218 

Black,  218 

Illustration  of,  78 
Blackbirds,  Red-winged,  162 
Blackbird,  purple  (Jack),  215 
Black  Cherry,  76 

Lung  balm,  77 

As  a  remedy,  78 
Blaze- 
Special,  1 66 

Road,  1 66 
Blood  Robin,  232 
Blood  Root,  71 
Bloody  -  Thundercloud  -in-the- 

Afternoon,  197 
Bluebird,  162 
Blue-bottle  Flies,  316 

Plague,  316,  317 
Blue  Cohosh,  201 
Blue  Crane  (Heron) ,  456,  457 
Blue-jay,  344,  474 
Bobolink,  35,  64 
Boilers,  the,  497 
Boneset    (Eupatorium  perfoli- 

atum),  203 
Bow — 

How  to  make,  177 


543 


544 


Index 


Bowstring,  178 
Bow-drill,  Yan  makes,  81 

How  to  light  a  fire  with, 

171, 172 

Boyle,  Char-less,  105,  106,  243 
Burns,  Guy,  219 

Is  captured  by  Yan  and 

Sam,  220 
Becomes  a  member  of  the 

tribe,  230 

His  stuffed  Deer,  289 
His  test  of  courage,  415 
Kills  the  Woodchuck,  432 
Name  changed  to  Hawk- 
eye,  440 

Butterfly,  black,  42 
Butternuts — 

Used  for  dyeing,  54,  71 

CALEB  CLARK,  130,  131,  141 

His  description  of  a  tee 
pee,  146 
His     Indian     adventures, 

3°°>  3°3 
Makes  Indian  war  bonnet, 

3°5 
His   standard   of   a   good 

shot,  308 
He  tells  Yan  how  to  find 

his  way  in  the  woods  ,359 
Shows   the   boys  how   to 

skin  a  horse, ^  366,  and 

how  to  tan  skin,  368 
How  to  make  moccasins, 

37i 
His    opinion    of    hunters 

and  hunting,  374 
His  marksmanship,  427 
Encounter  with-Mr.Raf  ten 

on  the  coon  hunt,  452 


CALEB  CLARK — 

Story  of  his  quarrel  with 
Mr.  Raften,  464 

Encounter  with  Bill  Hen- 
nard,  485 

Gets     possession     of     his 

farm,  494 
Calfskins,  sold  by  boys,  no 

Used  as  drum-heads,  320 

Tanning  of,  368 
Cardinal  flowers,  328 
Cat,  329 

Fight  with  Skunk,  332 

Aclopts    young   ScAuirrels, 
342 

Is   caught   in   the   ketch- 
alive,  378 
Catnip — 

Tea,  71 

How  it  cured  the  Cat,  205 
Cedar,  78,  177 
Cedar-birds,  514 
Char-less  (Red-squirrel),  497 
Chenopodium,  204 
Chipmunk,  355 

Sam's  Chipmunk  capture, 

473 

Chickadee,  cock,  350,  474 
Choke-cherry,  76 
Clam  shells,  79 
Cohosh,  202 
Connor,  Kitty,  207 
Coon — 

Hairs,  69 

Hunt,  165,  443 

Tracks,  66,  273 
Cotton  wood  root, 

Indians  use  to  light  fires, 

170 
Council,  the  Grand,  435 


Inde: 


545 


Coup,  Grand,  299,  303,  304,  308 

Cow-bird,  327 

Crawfish,  3.49 

Creeper,  350 

Crow — 

Split  tongue,  72 
Common,  tracks  of,  79 

Cuckoo,  black-billed,  344 

Cypripedium,  201 

DACHSHUND,  503 

Daddy  Longlegs  and  the  cows, 

Dam — 

The  boys  build,  191 

Dandelion  roots,  71 
Coffee,  73 

Deer- 
Guy's  stuffed,  289 
-Shooting  game,  294 

De  Neuville,  Granny,  124,  125, 

I31 
Mr.  Raften  buys  her  Pigs, 

132 
Her  love   of   flowers   and 

birds,  133 
She  prescribes  for  Sam's 

leg,  136 
Her  herb  lore,    200,    201, 

202,  203, 204, 205 
Her  visit  from  the  robbers, 

208, 209 
Dew-cloth,  257 
Digby,  Cyrus, 

(Blue- jay),  497 
Dipper,  312 
Dog- 
How    to    tell    height    by 

track,  502 
Dogans,  103 


Downey's  Dump,  423 
Droserse    (Fly -eating  plants), 

5J4 

Ducks,  flock  of,  363 

Dyeing — 

With  Butternuts,  54,  71 
With  Hemlock,  71 
With  Goldthread,  71 
With  Goldenrod,  210 
With  Berries,  210 
With  Pokeweed,  211 
With  Elder  shoots,  2 1 1 
With  Oak  chips,  211 
With  Hickory  bark,  211 
With  Birch,  211 
With  Dogwood,  211 
With  Indigo  herb,  211 

EAGLE  FEATHERS, 

As  worn  by  Indian  War 
riors,  299 

Elderberry-shoot,  used  for  pipe- 
stem,  8 1 
Ellis,  Bud,  is  cured  by  Lung 

Balm,  77 
Elm- 
Slippery,  74,  7 8 
Swamp,  78 
Bark     for     teepees,     119, 

122 

Emmy  Grants,  104 
Eupatorium    per f oliatum 
(Boneset),  203 

FIRE- 
HOW     to     light     without 

matches,  171,  172 
Right  woods  to  use,  170, 

268 
Signal,  359 


546 


Index 


Flicker,  351 

Illustration  of  nest,  475 
Flying-squirrel,  337 
Fox— 

His  Rabbit  hunt,  353 

Callaghan,  447 
Frogs,  163 

GALIUM,  203 

Garney,  Bill,  grave  of,  413 

Ginseng,  71,  74 

Goldenrod — 

Used  for  dyeing,  210 
Usually  points  north,  360 

Golden   Seal  (Hydrastis  Cana- 
densis),  201 

Goldthread,  71,  204 

Gray  bird,  161 

Grip,  the  Dog,  89 

Gyascutus,  227 

HAWK — 

Sharpskin,  64 

Fight  with  King-bird,  158 

Chicken,  346 

Red-shouldered,  351 

Sparrow,  64,  458 
Hearne,  Samuel,  196 
Hemlock,  bark,  71 

Tree,  78 

Used  for  tanning,  369 
Henbane,  65 
Hennard,  Bill,  478 
Herb-lore,  Biddy's,  71-75 

Granny's,  200-211 
Heron  (Blue  Crane),  456,  457 
"Highbelier,"  203 
Hornet,  blue,  42 
Horse,  how  to  skin,  366 


Horse-hair — 

Turns  to  a  snake,  72 
Humming-bird,  232,  340 
Hydrastis  Cahadensis 

(Golden  Seal),  201 
Hyla  pickeringii  (Frog),  41 

INDIAN — 

Sense  of  smell,  44 
Teepees,  146 
Head-dresses,  299 
Telegram    of    good  luck, 

300 
Meaning  of  Eagle  feathers, 

303 

War  bonnet,  305 

Ability  to  foretell  storms, 
306 

Games,  309,  310 

Tests  of  eyes,  312 

Well,  318,  440 

Drum,  320,  321 

Smoke  signs,  355,  356 

Trail  signs,  356 

Method  of  tanning  skins, 
368 

Paints,  461 
Indian  cucumber,  69 
Indian  cup,  71 
Indian  squaw — 

Yan's  story  of ,  195, 196 
Indian  turnips,  74,  200 
Indigo  herb,  211 
Injun  tobacco,  71,  73,  203 
Iron  wood,  78 

JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT,  2OO 

Jewel-flower,  340 
Jewel  weed,  328 


Index 


547 


KETCHALIVE.  how  to  make  a, 

377 

Kingbird,  157 

Fight  with  Hawk,  158 
Kingfishers,  162,  346 
Kingroot,  201 

LANCEWOOD,  177 

Larry,  how  he  made  brooms, 

206 

Lavender  tea,  71 
Leatherwood,  121 
Lindera   Benzoin  (Spicebush) , 

203 

Little  Beaver,  197 
Lizard,  Whistling,  41 
Lobelia,  202 

Long  Swamp,  trip  to,  510 
Loon, 359 
Lung  Balm,  77 
Lynx, 

Yan  meets,  90 

Is  killed  in  Long  Swamp, 

S32 

MALLARD  DUCK,  517 
Mandrakes,  201 
Maple,  78 
Martins,  Sand,  162 
"Massacrees,"  282,  327 
May  Apple,  201 
Mink,  273, 341, 346 

Kills  Muskrat,  348 

How  to  catch,  373 
Minnie,  makes  peace  between 

Yan  and  Sam,  247 
Minnow,  346 
Moccasin,  202 

How  to  make,  270 
Mosquitoes,  how  to   keep  out 

of  teepee,  316 
Mouse,  Field,  341,  350 


Mud  albums,  274,  275,  278 
Muskrat,  79,  263,  273,341,  345 
Killed  by  Mink,  348 
Burrows  hole  in  dam,  349 
Mussel  shells,  78 

NEEDLES,     made    of     Catfish 

bones,  63 

Niagara,  Yan  visits,  98 
North  Star,  312 

OAK,  pick  to  make  holes  for 

sewmg  bark,  123 
Ojibwa,  370 
O'Leary,  Phil,  105,  275 
Osage  orange,  177 
Oven  bird,  458 
Owl,  Stuffed,  115 

Hoot,  163 

Screech,  165 

Horned,  263 

Cat,  390 

Horned.    Owls,   killed    by 
Yan  and  Sam,  399,  400 

How  to  stuff,  402,  404 

PARLOUR,    the   Raftens',   in, 

112 
Partridge  head  for  Mink  bait, 

373 

Peeper,  41 

Pelopseus,  Mud-wasp,  42 
Peter  (Peetweet),  497 
Pine,  78 

Pine  Grosbeak,  63 
Pipsissewa,  71,  204 
Pleiades,  312 
Pleurisy  root,  204 
Payne,  Dick,  380,  494 
Poke  weed,  211 

Prattisons,  103,  106,  211,  216 
Prayer-sticks,  124 


548 


Index 


RABBIT,  how  he  escaped  the 

Fox,  354 
Rad— 

Unkindness  to  Yan,  30 
Goes    Lynx-hunting   with 

Yan,  93 

Raften,  Bud,  115 
Raften,  Mrs.,  kindness  to  Yan, 

107 
Raften,  Wm.,  103,  105 

His    characteristics,    108, 

109 
Helps  the  boys  make  their 

bed  in  teepee,  256 
Makes  friends  with  Caleb 
and   helps   him   out    of 
his  trouble,  489,  490 
Rail,  64 

Sora  rails,  350 
Red  Squirrels,  80,  338 

Nest  robbed  by  boys,  281, 

339 
Robin,  162 

Guy  kills,  476 


SAM,  106 

His    collection    of    birds' 

eggs,  112 
He  visits  Granny  de  Neu- 

ville,  200 
His    skill    with    the    axe, 

397. 398 
Zander, 

Taxidermist's  shop,  23 
Exhibit  of  birds,  24 
Sage-brush   root,   Indians  use 

to  light  fires,  170 
Sandals,     worn     when     Deer- 
hunting,  411 


Sanger — 

Account  of  settlers,    103, 

104 

Custom  of  framing  coffin- 
plates,  112 

San  tees  (Sioux) ,  300 

Sassafras,  71 

Scarlet  Tanager,  232,  279 

Sees    Yan    again    at   Granny 
de  Neuville's,  207 

Sharp-shin,  64 

Shells- 
Mussel,  78 
Clam,  78 

Shore-lark,  97 

Meadow-lark,    pursued     by 
Hawk,  158 

Shrew,  Yan  finds  body  of,  474 

Si  Lee,  155,  156,  165 

Teaches  the  boys  how  to 
stuff  Horned  Owls,  402- 

405 

Skunk,  fight  with  Cat,  332 
Skunk  Cabbage,  202 
Skunk-root,  202 
Smoke,  signs  used  by  Indians, 

355 

Snake,  dies  at  sundown,  74 
Snipe,  Teetering  (Tipup),  349 
"Sorry-plant,"  74,  200 
Sparrow — 

Vesper,  161,  162 
Song, 162, 163, 457 
Sparrow-hawk,  63,  474,  514 
Spear-mint,  204 
Spicewood  (Lindera  Benzoin) , 

203 
Spider,  kill  a  spider  to  make  it 

rain,  73    _ 
Squaw  bernes,  210 


Index 


549 


Stramonium,  65 
Superstitious  sayings,  Biddy's, 


UMBIL,     or 
201 


"Sterrick-Root," 


72 


Swallows,  shooting,  72 

Keep  off  lightning,  72,  162 


TAXIDERMY,   Si    Lee    gives    a 

lesson  in,  402 
Teepee- 
Is  begun, 119 
Does  not  prove  satisfac 
tory,  smokes,   125,  and 
leaks,  126 
Is  blown  down,  129 
Caleb  Clark's  description, 

146 
Second   teepee   is   begun, 

J5! 

How  to  place   poles   and 

ropes,  167,  168 
Should  face  east,  169 
How  to  secure  in  a  storm, 

460 

Toads,  give  warts,  72,  163 
Trails- 
Paper,  282 
Corn, 283 
Signs  of,  356 

Trees,  points  of  compass  indi 
cated  by, 360 
How    to    tell    height    by 

shadow,  504,  505 
How  to  measure  distance 
between  trees,  506,  507 
Tree-frog,  263,  344 
Turkey    feathers     for   arrows, 

179 

Turtle,  mud,  79 
Tutnee,  57 


VEERY, 352 

Vireo,  Red-eyed,  267 

WAKAN  ROCK,  317,  318 

War  bonnets,  411 

Wasp,  mud,  42 

Wesley  (Blackhawk),  497 

Whangerdoodle,  274 

Whippoorwill,  163 

White-man's  Foot,  71 

White  Oak  pins  for  teepe,  168 

Whooping  Crane,  303 

Willow,  withes  for  tying  teepee 
poles,  119 

Wind,  how  to  tell  direction  of, 
308 

Wintergreen,  74 

Witch-hazel- 
Will  find  water,  73 
Granny   de    Neuville's 
medicine,  209 

Woodchuck — 

Sam's  story,  280 
Guy  kills   the  old  Wood- 
chuck,  432 

Wood-duck,  393 

Wood-mouse,  85 

Wood-peewee,  344 

Woodpecker,  Red-headed,  162, 
338,350 

WTorm,  measuring,  73 

Worm  weed,  204 


YAN, 


Hpmelife,  19 

His  attempts  to  buy  Owl, 
25 


Index 


YAN— 

Love  for  spring,  26 

How  he  made  the  last 
dime  for  his  first  nature 
book,  33 

His  meeting  with  the 
unknown  naturalist,  40 

Discovery  of  Glenyan,  47 

Building  of  the  shanty, 
<|i 

Imitation  of  Indians,  61 

Makes  a  drawing  of  a 
Hawk,  63 

Identifies  Coon-hairs,  69 

Is  made  ill  by  chewing 
leaves  of  strange  plant, 
70 

His  list  of  trees,  78 

Tries  to  kill  Wood-mouse, 
80 

Makes  a  pipe  and  learns 
to  smoke,  81 

Is  punished  for  caricatur 
ing  his  teacher,  82 

Finds  his  shanty  de 
stroyed  by  tramps,  83 

His  illness,  84,  85 

Begins  to  recover  and 
visits  Glenyan,  88 

His  adventure  with  a 
Lynx,  89 

Takes  Rad  hunting,  93 

Is  reproved  by  his  mother 
for  killing  -the  Shore- 
lark,  97 

He  goes  to  Sanger,  103, 
106 

His  duties,  no 

He  sees  Sam's  treasures, 
114 


YAN— 

He    and    Sam    begin    the 

teepee,  119 
They  light   a  fire  in   the 

teepee,  124 
Which  smokes  them  out, 

126 
They     find     the     teepee 

blown  down,  129 
Their  visit  to  Granny  de 

Neuville,  135 
Yan  sees  Biddy  again,  135 
They    visit    Caleb    Clark, 

141 
They  begin   their  second 

teepee,  151 
The    canvas    is    sewn    by 

Si  Lee,  165 
Caleb    teaches    them     to 

light     a     fire     without 

matches,  172 
First  fire  in  new  teepee, 

172 
They     make     bows     and 

arrows,     177;     practice 

with  them,  186 
They  build  a  dam,  191 
Yan's  story  of  the  Indian 

squaw,  196 
He  visits  the  Sanger  Witch 

again,  200 
Takes    dinner    with    her, 

212-214 
They  capture  Guy  Burns, 

220;  admit  him  into  the 

Tribe,  232 
Yan  fights  Sam  and  Guy, 

237. 238 
Comes  to  the  assistance  of 

the  school  trustees,  244 


Index 


551 


YAN— 

Goes    with    Sam    to    live 

in    the    teepee  for  two 

weeks,  252 
Their    first    night    in    the 

woods,  262-267 
They  are  joined  by  Guy, 

270 
Their  foraging  trip,   282- 

287 
Their  Deer-shooting  game, 

291 
Their    visit    from    Caleb, 

299 
They  sun  their  blankets, 

3I5 

How  they  kept  off  Mos 
quitoes,  316 

They  clean    their    camp, 

3*7 

Carry  their  remnants  of 
food  to  Wakan  Rock, 

3i8 

Dig  an  Indian  well,  319 

Make  an  Indian  drum, 
320,  321 

Yan  sees  fight  between 
Cat  and  Skunk,  332 

They  destroy  a  Red- 
squirrel's  nest,  339 

He  learns  to  build  signal 
fire,  359 

Caleb  tells  him  how  to 
find  his  way  in  the 
woods,  301 

The  boys  learn  how  to  tan 
skins,  360 

And  how  to  make  mocca 
sins,  371 

Makes  a  ketchalive,  377 


YAN— 

Their  visit  from  Mr.  Raf- 

ten,  379 
Yan's    story    of  the  Boy. 

that  -  wanted  -  to  -  know, 

385 
The     trip     to     Downey's 

Dump,  389 
They     kill     two    Horned 

Owls,  401 
Si  Lee  gives  them  a  lesson 

in  taxidermy,  402 
Yan's  test  of  grit,  417 
He  draws  the  tracks  near 

Bill  Garney's  grave,  419 
The  Grand  Council,  435 
The  Coon-hunt,  443 
The  Bear-hunt,  468 
Yan  finds  a  Shrew,  474 
Is  ill-treated  by  Bill  Hen- 

nard,  482 
Trouble  with  the  Boilers, 

497 
He    wins    the    fight    with 

Blackhawk,  498 
The  Boilers  join  the  San- 

gers,  499 
Yan  beats  the  city  boy  in 

wrestling-match,  509 
They  start  on  hard  trip, 

510 
Yan   and    Pete   make   an 

exploring  trip,  513 
His  fight  with  the  Lynx, 

^5J7 

Van  finds  the  Indian 
village,  520 

Receives  bounty  for  kill 
ing  Lynx,  538 

Is  made  War  Chief,  541 


552  Index 

Yan's  Mother —  Yellow  Warbler,  327 

Her     morbidly     religious  Yew — 

nature,  95  Spanish,  177 

She     reproves     Yan     for  Oregon,  177 

killing  Shofe-lark,  97 


-  '\ 


RET"?  „•**{& ft 


BJT  »ot 

*?*** 


1  BORROWED 


